


The Leader's Burden

by Asukachan07



Category: Legend of the Seeker (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Kahlan, BAMF Richard, Bringing back interesting characters, Canon-Typical Violence, Compliant Until S2 E10 Perdition, D'Hara deserved better, F/M, RiCara is endgame, TV Show Canon, Ten Years Later, Wizard Richard, legend of the seeker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asukachan07/pseuds/Asukachan07
Summary: Post S2E10 Perdition:With the new prophecy claiming that the fate of the world depends on Kahlan’s survival, the group decides to escort her back to Aydindril. There, she reunites with someone she thought she'd lost forever.After an unpleasant discussion with Verna, Richard realizes that it might be time to assume his identity as Richard Rahl, rightful heir to the throne of D'Hara...And the most powerful wizard in recorded history.
Relationships: Kahlan Amnell/Fyren, Kahlan Amnell/Richard Cypher, Richard Cypher/Cara Mason
Comments: 43
Kudos: 11





	1. Mother Confessor

**Author's Note:**

> It's been almost ten years since the last episode of Legend of the Seeker aired on TV. Time sure flies! I'm still hoping for a mini-series or a movie to wrap it all up since the main cast still looks good!
> 
> This fanfiction is completely based on the show, which I prefer to the books unlike most book readers who've also watched the show. I love the show's portrayal of Richard and Kahlan: they're true good guys with ethical standards that improve overtime, unlike their books counterparts who quickly escalate into senselessly cruel despots. Nevertheless, I find that show Richard and Kahlan shunned their duties too many times in the name of love or for the sake of a quest. I aim to remedy that with this fanfiction.
> 
> Please note: while their romantic relationship will be regularly mentioned and discussed, Richard and Kahlan ARE NOT ENDGAME in this story.

Kahlan tried to keep an eye on Cara as she brushed her hair. The Mord-Sith was inspecting the perimeter of the camp they had just set, intermittently kicking rocks and dead branches with her boots. 

“What’s wrong?” Richard’s voice came in a whisper behind her shoulder.

The confessor froze, suppressing the shiver of pleasure at hearing the sound of her lover’s voice after going so many weeks without it. After taking a deep breath to get her bearings, Kahlan slowly lowered her brushing hand and turned halfway to face Richard.

A concerned frown creased his brow, his warm brown eyes searching hers as he settled on the overturned log next to her.

“It’s just,” Kahlan hesitated, keeping her voice low and resisting the urge to insure that Cara wasn’t looking their way, “she was so happy. It’s not fair…”

“Is it about Ca…” Richard guessed and thus stopped himself before uttering their companion’s name. “And him? I’m still in shock from Zedd telling me that she _liked_ him. I didn’t think she could…care that much, let alone act on such feelings. I've never seen her look that upset before.”

Kahlan actually had: the day that Cara's agiels had stopped working because Denna had killed Richard. The Mord-Sith had tried to be pragmatic when she'd concluded that Richard was dead, but the Confessor had seen the deep sense of loss in her eyes, the same loss that Kahlan herself had experienced. On the way back to finding Denna, Cara had mostly kept to herself in order to avoid Dennee's disdain, but Kahlan now remembered the occasional vacant looks in the blonde woman's eyes, the tremble in her hands as she repeatedly held her agiels—with her bare hands when she'd thought that Kahlan, Dennee and Zedd weren't looking—and the subtle work of her jaw whenever someone mentioned Richard.

The Mord-Sith had been grieving her Lord Rahl's death, there was no doubt about it. One would find normal for a sworn servant of the Master Rahl to mourn his passing, but Kahlan hadn't forgotten how unaffected Cara had been by Darken Rahl's death half a year ago. As soon as Darken Rahl had perished, Cara had immediately taken command of her sisters and had even taken the time to say goodbye to Richard before leaving. She hadn't cared for Darken Rahl, not when his death had liberated her from the magic bonds that bent her and many others to his will.

But she cared for Richard, to whom she wasn't bonded by any mind-altering magic. Kahlan knew now that Cara would've wept for him had she not been a Mord-Sith who believed that sadness, remorse and love made people weak.

So really the Mother Confessor shouldn't have been surprised that Cara had experienced romance. Her heart wasn't as cold as she let anyone believe. Or, maybe, spending time with the Seeker had thawed enough of it for her to care for Leo Dane.

“You should have heard her laugh,” Kahlan said wistfully, keeping her voice low and straightening her bag to remain inconspicuous. “A genuine, joyous laugh. I didn’t know she was capable of one.”

“Wow,” Richard reacted, still softly enough to keep their conversation private.

A few feet away, Zedd let out a loud snore before turning around on his makeshift bed.

“It’s my fault,” Kahlan said, standing up to unroll her own bed. “I turned my back at the wrong time. He died trying to protect me but…”

“And I am grateful for it,” Richard interrupted her gently, bringing up his hand to cup her cheek so she could face him. “The world is grateful for it. I am sorry for the loss of…I’m sorry that he’s dead, but he was a seeker, he knew the risks. He knew the world couldn’t afford to lose you…”

“Because of the new prophecy?” the Mother Confessor asked, so surprised that she nearly raised her voice. “Richard, you don’t believe in prophecies…”

“I don’t,” the Seeker confirmed. “But I _know_ that you are the Mother Confessor, Kahlan Amnell. You’re the leader of the Midlands, and the last of your kind. Zedd can name another seeker if one dies in combat. But if _you_ die, the Order of the Confessors will be lost forever.”

Richard was right, of course, but that did not make Cara’s loss any less significant. 

“I could die anytime on this quest anyway,” she stubbornly reminded him as she pulled away to lower herself on her bed.

Richard stopped her by grabbing her elbow, gently but firmly. He gave her a small apologetic smile, clearly trying to convey a message. 

“About that, I’ve been thinking…we should escort you back to Aydindril.”

It took seconds for Kahlan to process her lover’s words.

“What?” she exclaimed loudly, drawing Cara in from the outskirts of the camp, agiels at the ready.

“Banelings?” Zedd asked in a hoarse voice, abruptly awakened. He groaned plaintively as he quickly stood to his impressive height.

“Nothing, sorry for disturbing you,” Kahlan tried to appease the group. She was still staring at Richard with wide eyes, and was aware that her action probably belied her words. Some confessor she was.

“It’s not nothing, Kahlan,” Richard countered, gently squeezing the arm he was still holding before looking at his grandfather and bodyguard. “When we left the Ehrengard six moons ago, we were supposed to take Kahlan back to Aydindril. She was elected Mother Confessor over a year ago, but she hasn’t presided the Midlands Council since.”

“The quest is more important,” Kahlan said slowly, turning her gaze to Zedd for support.

“It would be quite pointless to defeat the Keeper and his minions just to see that half of the world died of petty crimes and hunger,” the wizard pointed out with an apologetic shake of his head. “Darken Rahl deprived the Midlands of its confessors after centuries of peace and just ruling. The Mother Confessor is needed in Aydindril more than ever, Kahlan.”

“That, and you have to remain safe until Richard completes the quest,” Cara added in that blunt tone of hers. “The prophecy is clear about it.”

“We don’t believe in prophecies!” Kahlan reiterated, feeling defensive. “And if I can’t be safe with a Wizard of the First Order, a Mord-Sith _and_ the Seeker, how can I be safe anywhere else?”

“Ruling from a high chair is not nearly as dangerous as fighting banelings and sisters of the Dark in the wilderness,” Cara pointed out with a scoff. “I’ve heard that the army of Aydindril has competent soldiers. There must be a few of them still alive willing to serve as your guards, but it is my understanding that no one in Aydindril would dare harm a confessor, let alone the Mother Confessor.”

“There might not be any guard left alive if D’Harans are still occupying Aydindril,” Kahlan countered, unable to keep outrage out of her voice at the idea of having Darken Rahl’s forces still terrorizing her home long after the tyrant’s death.

“All the more for you to go back and restore peace in the Midlands, Kahlan,” Richard advised, his soft tone not fooling her: he’d already made the decision for her!

“Zedd will go with you,” the Seeker added, though there was a questioning intonation to the words he directed at his grandfather.

“Of course,” the wizard agreed readily. “I’m sure that this old snake Alferon managed to escape capture by the D’Harans. He’ll be able to inform us of the current state of affairs as soon as we arrive.”

“Snake?” Cara inquired.

“Alferon is a wizard of the Second Order,” Zedd explained. “His favorite escape strategy is to turn into a snake and slither away. Only wizards of the First Order can teleport. I’ve missed my old friend. I’ve missed my home,” he added with an unusual note of nostalgia.

Kahlan knew Alferon. He had been a member of Mother Confessor Serena’s entourage along with Silas, another wizard of the Second Order. They had exchanged a few words now and then, usually when Kahlan was sent to deliver justice in areas known to count magic users.

Of course, Kahlan missed Aydindril, too. She hadn’t lived there for as long as Zedd had, but it was her home. The Confessors’ Palace was the first place where she had ever felt safe since becoming aware of her powers. The servants in the Confessors’ Palace had been cautious around her, but they had never shown the fear that the rest of the Midlands could not hide at the sight of her confessor’s dress. Then there was Dylia, the affectionate head of chambermaids who had been like a surrogate mother to her and Dennee.

“The compass is pointing south,” the Mother Confessor reminded the group, feeling her chest constrict over a feeling of helplessness. “That’s in the opposite direction of Aydindril. The time wasted to go back there could be better spent on the quest!”

“Aldamont is only half and a day south,” Zedd commented as he stretched his back. “We could get horses there and make the trip to Aydindril much faster.”

“I can’t leave you!” Kahlan pleaded to Richard as she grabbed his free arm, mirroring his hold on her. “The Seeker needs his confessor, and his wizard. It’s always been that way!”

“When there were enough confessors and wizards to spare,” Richard specified softly, looking back and forth between her and his grandfather. “You two are the last of your orders, though technically there’s still another confessor: Dennee. You should have her and her son return home as soon as things are safe again in Aydindril.”

“We can’t leave you to complete the quest _alone,_ Richard!” Kahlan objected yet again, tilting her head apologetically when Cara frowned. “What I mean to say is, you’ll eventually need advice on magic and diplomacy. We’re not with you just to protect you from physical harm!”

“I don’t believe that the Seeker, _stubborn_ protector of the weak and the oppressed, needs any help with diplomacy,” Cara argued before Richard could defend himself. “Not when he can make friends and allies out of sworn enemies without even needing to draw his sword,” she added with a contradictory tone of disapproval.

Kahlan pinched her lips when the Seeker directed a knowing smirk at the Mord-Sith, who rolled her eyes in annoyance then looked to her right.

The woman in red leather then pointed past the trees sheltering their camp site.

“And isn’t _she_ supposed to know all about magic?” Richard’s bodyguard questioned.

As soon as she saw a brighter and smoother red attire come into view, Kahlan jerked away from Richard and bent down to draw her daggers out of her boots.

But she sighed in relief when she saw that it wasn’t a sister of the Dark, but Sister Verna.

Then Kahlan noticed that she was the only one surprised by the arrival of the sister of the Light.

They’d known that Verna had been following them, probably since they’d left the Desert of Perdition. Kahlan had been so focused on Cara that she hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings.

“You were unaware of my presence, Mother Confessor,” the woman in the red robes stated the obvious, to Kahlan’s embarrassment. “In many other circumstances, such inattention would cost your life. You must survive for the world of the living to have a fighting chance against the Keeper.”

“The world of the living will be just fine since we’re the ones doing the fighting,” Cara quipped before walking back outside of the camp, likely to resume her watch.

Zedd waved an inviting hand towards the low tree trunk he’d occupied earlier at supper, and after nodding her thanks Sister Verna took her seat and put her traveling bag at her feet.

“We appreciate the company, especially in view of our changes of plans,” the wizard declared, “but why have you come along, sorceress? Shouldn’t you be rooting out the corruption and evil that has pervaded your order?”

“My duty, as it has been for the past twenty-four years,” Verna reminded the group but focusing her gaze on Zedd, “is to help Richard Rahl control his Han and become the powerful wizard he’s meant to be.”

“I’m Richard Cypher,” the Seeker unsurprisingly corrected the sister of the Light.

“And Richard gave away his Han,” Kahlan gently pointed out.

She didn’t mind that the sorceress had come, quite the opposite: she would be a resourceful ally to Richard, and much better company to him than Cara.

Although, at times, Kahlan was under the impression that Richard preferred Cara’s company over Zedd’s and even hers. Part of it was definitely due to the fact that the mord-sith had quickly become better than the confessor and wizard at hunting and doing menial tasks that as a former woods guide Richard excelled at: cutting logs for firewood; gathering specific herbs, barks and seeds to make soaps and ointments; cleaning and drying animals’ pelts to later trade them in villages for essential supplies. And of course, Cara was a less cautious and therefore more challenging sparring partner for the Seeker, though it bothered the Mother Confessor that Richard _didn’t mind_ the occasional burst of pain from the touch of Cara’s agiels.

Occasionally, when they traded shifts to watch over their camp, Richard and Cara would exchange jests that confounded Kahlan because they either were appallingly dark or did not make any sense to her. But it made sense to _them_ because they had traveled together for many moons in an erased timeline. A future where Kahlan had died after giving birth to Darken Rahl’s son, a male confessor who’d turned out to be a monster just like his father.

After Richard had summarized his quest to return to the present, neither Kahlan or Zedd had dared ask him for details about what must have been a traumatic experience: living in a world doomed to be under the control of an evil male confessor, at a time when everyone Richard knew had been dead except for a senile Shota. And the only person Richard could relate to and count on for help had been a mord-sith: a cruel woman who wasn’t only a sworn enemy but also the agiel sister of Denna, the woman who had almost broken him. So truly, Kahlan avoided the subject of Richard’s journey in that erased future because she didn’t wish to cause him any distress by having him reminisce about such dreary memories. But the insensitive Cara wouldn’t do her Lord Rahl such courtesy, and again, it seemed that _he didn't mind._

“He gave his Han to Nicci, who died in combat,” Sister Verna’s voice brought Kahlan out of her musings. “So it returned to his body.”

“What? No that’s not—” the confessor was about to say 'possible' as her gaze shifted to Richard, but the tight apologetic smile that he gave her indicated that she was very much mistaken.

“Richard! You were hiding your headaches again?” She asked, unable to hide her disappointment.

“Do not worry child, he’s fine,” Zedd assured her, which meant that _he knew_ about this.

What about Cara, who was the reason why Kahlan had been so unobservant of late? Did she know too?

“He’s fine now, but I assure you, his Han will return in force,” Verna warned before tapping a side of her bag. “I brought a Rada’Han in case its use is necessary.”

“I figured that I could just give my Han to Zedd if the headaches returned,” Richard admitted with a shrug, and Zedd himself eyed him with surprise.

“Maybe for safe-keeping until the quest is completed, yes,” the wizard replied cautiously. “But your Han is yours to control, grow and refine, my boy.”

“I’m already the Seeker, Zedd,” his grandson pointed out. “I don’t need any magic other than that of the Sword of Truth.”

“You will need more than the Sword of Truth,” the sister of the Light corrected him, “in order to help defeat the powerful enemies who will make themselves known after the tear in the Veil between the world of the living and the Underworld is sealed. And you cannot remain the Seeker, not when you have a much greater calling.”

“There is no greater calling,” Kahlan and Zedd denied in unison, and Richard smiled goodnaturedly at the sorceress.

“Is there not?” Verna challenged as she looked between the three of them. “I overheard some of your discussion about sending the Mother Confessor back to Aydindril.”

Kahlan tensed, and she could tell that Richard and Zedd were equally uncomfortable about the change in topic.

“You are the last of your kind, Kahlan Amnell,” the sister of the Light inaccurately stated. “After restoring peace and the Rule of Law in the Midlands, your duty is to continue the line of the confessors. You will have to choose a mate worthy of siring the next generation of your order.”

That...that was true. Kahlan avoided thinking about it, but since Zedd had locked up Annabelle’s confessor powers, she’d known that the day would come for her to give up on her love for Richard and be realistic.

She was a confessor. Confessors rarely if ever experienced romance, and they could never be with the one they cared for.

"And you, Richard Cypher born Richard _Rahl,_ " Verna addressed the Seeker this time, "are the rightful heir to the throne of D'Hara. You're the only person capable of restoring order in that vast Empire. You might have been at the forefront of the war against Darken Rahl, Richard, but you do not realize the chaos that broke out in its aftermath. If you did, you wouldn't be insisting on completing a quest another Seeker is more likely to complete than you, knowing that you are the last hope for the D'Haran people to ever know peace and prosperity again. There can be no other Master Rahl than you, whose blood keeps complex magical spells running, such as the one powering the Mord-Siths' agiels. Most importantly, different D'Haran factions will settle for no less than the rightful, absolute monarch who will unite them all. Until that happens, innocent men, women and children will continue to die needlessly. Since I started speaking, dozens of them have already perished from violence, sickness and hunger."

Kahlan wished she could comfort a shaken Richard, who surely felt guilty for being the passive enabler of the suffering of so many people. But she herself was horrified at the idea that she'd similarly forsaken the people of the Midlands for the past six months.

Helping the Seeker defeat Darken Rahl had been her primary duty. However, after Darken Rahl's death her duty had been to return home and help the Midlands recover from the war. She'd been elected the Mother Confessor over a year ago, a role she'd accepted with gratitude and honor.

Where was that gratitude and that honor now? She didn't feel them. Instead, she felt deeply ashamed and disappointed in herself for letting her heart dictate her decisions for so long. She'd justified remaining by Richard's side by reasoning that he needed more protection than ever with enemies as relentless as banelings around, but did he? Cara was a competent bodyguard to her Lord Rahl, and Zedd was Richard's powerful grandfather and mentor. The Seeker hadn't truly needed the last true confessor to risk her precious life for him when she had so much to do back in Aydindril.

So Richard was right to insist she leave as early as possible. It was for the best. Deep down, Kahlan had known that giving into her attraction to the Seeker would only lead to a heartbreak down the road. She’d been stubbornly hopeful that somehow, the Creator would grant her that one wish, that one reward for all the sacrifices she’d made to help save the New World from Darken Rahl. She’d thought that _this time_ , duty wouldn’t get in the way of her happiness.

After all, she'd sacrificed romance for duty before. How could she lose another love interest so soon after she’d finally moved on from all she had lost to the war against Darken Rahl? 

Kahlan remembered little Rachel’s comment when she’d learned that Kahlan couldn’t marry Richard, several moons ago.

‘That’s not fair,’ she’d said, and Kahlan wholeheartedly agreed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> Stay safe, everyone!


	2. Wizard

After using a muting spell in order to relieve himself in complete discretion a dozen paces away from the edge of the camp, Zeddicus went through the stretches Cara had showed him to unlock stiff joints and loosen sore muscles.

First light had just broken through the horizon, but the thick trees of the woods where the group had taken refuge were still shielding Kahlan, Cara and Verna from it. Only Richard was awake because he'd been on the last watch.

The wizard slowly approached the Seeker, stepping as quietly as his elderly and hungry state allowed him. He was making enough noise for his grandson to hear him from several paces away, but Richard seemed distracted as he sat on a tall boulder, inspecting the flawless blade of the Sword of Truth.

"Every year for twenty-four years, I would unsheathe the Sword of Truth and hope against hope that its edge had gone dull or that its steel had rusted," Zeddicus admitted quietly as he stood level with the seated Seeker, who slowly looked up at him. "Then I'd leave it not quite forgotten in a corner, stubbornly refusing to put it to good use by making the next Seeker train with it. The more years passed peacefully on that side of the magical boundary, the more delusional I grew that no one would ever cross it to upend the normal life George and Mary Cypher had created for Tarralyn's boy. All the while, my daughter was the Creator knew where, leagues away from her son, mourning his loss despite the fact that he'd been spared the tragedy of Brennidon," he specified with emotion.

Oh, Tarralyn. Of course her grief had led her back into the arms of her first child's evasive father, who had been none other than Panis Rahl: a man that Zeddicus had once considered a friend, but whose thirst for power had led astray and brought ruin to D'Hara.

The Creator might have warned witches and sorceresses of the wickedness of Darken Rahl through a prophecy, but in truth it was Panis, a mere man, but a calculating one, who'd set Richard's life into motion. Panis had chosen his second son to be the one to defeat his first. He'd known that only the fruit of his union with a member of another powerful bloodline could stop the greatest tyrant known to history. His own son, who ended up succeeding him as the Master Rahl.

Which led to the discussion Zedd felt the need to bring up to his grandson. The wizard believed that the prophecy of Richard serving the Keeper was open to interpretation. Rather than serving the Keeper through active actions, Richard could be serving the Keeper by passively allowing thousands of innocent people to die while he searched for the Stone of Tears.

"I wish I'd had more time to better know her," Zeddicus' grandson spoke softly of his biological mother before he stood up and sheathed the Sword with a practiced move. "I cannot wait to reunite with Jennsen in Brennidon after we seal the Rift."

"Or, you could reunite with her in D'Hara," the wizard suggested cautiously as the Seeker stretched his legs. "At the People's Palace, the residence and seat of power of House Rahl."

"And how do you suggest she gets through the dozens of battalions roaming the area?" The Seeker questioned with his usual snark. "She's pristinely ungifted, you cannot turn her invisible."

"And she should not hide like a thief," Zeddicus argued. "She's the rightful Princess Rahl. The people must acknowledge the sister who will help _you_ lead them into a period of peace and prosperity."

"Zedd, we've talked about this!" Richard pointed out with exasperation as he started pacing. "I cannot waste my time playing brutal political games when every day the Tear in the Veil grows wider! I am the Seeker, _not_ the Master Rahl!"

"Who said that you couldn't be both?" Cara's voice came behind the two men, but Zedd was the only one who startled at her sudden apparition.

Maybe Richard had never been distracted in the first place.

"Cara, I'm not having this argument with you again," the Seeker warned, managing to sound diplomatic even as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Oh? The Mord-Sith had tried to convince her Lord Rahl to assume the throne? Interesting.

The wizard had come to implicitly trust the mistress of pain, something he would've never done had it not been for Richard trusting her first. Zeddicus was aware that the two of them had developed a peculiar bond during the many moons they had spent together in a dark future; a future avoided when Cara had helped Richard defeat her own Lord Rahl. They'd been enemies united by the same strong desire to return home to their loved ones.

Richard had returned to Zedd and Kahlan, but when she'd returned to her temple Cara had been left for dead by her sisters of the Agiel. Then the Mord-Sith, for whom normalcy had meant serving a tyrannic Lord Rahl blindly, had seemed uncharacteristically eager to help the Seeker in his quest, even if that meant forsaking old habits, namely torturing people and living a lavish life in a Mord-Sith temple. While Cara had adjusted to living in the outdoors quite admirably, she didn't always obey Richard's orders: she often questioned the practicality of some of his commands, or downright refused to execute them if she deemed them ridiculous.

That was to be expected, since unlike his half-brother, Richard had not cast a spell of mindless obedience on her. It was Zeddicus' educated guess that Darken Rahl's magical bond to this one Mord-Sith had been severed when she had been transported fifty years into the future. Without the fog of dark magic clouding her mind, she'd been able to see Darken Rahl for who he truly was: an evil despot who had no care for his subjects, not even his elite bodyguards.

Whereas Richard cared for _all_ , even those who wronged him. As long as they could be redeemed, the Seeker tried to befriend even his enemies. Cara Mason was the living proof of Zedd's grandson belief that anyone could change for the better if given the chance.

"I feel terrible for all those D'Harans dying every day even though the war is over, truly I do!" Richard told the wizard and mord-sith. "But the alternative requires me to go from doing nothing to actively _killing_ dozens of people and terrorizing hundreds if not thousands of others in order to establish myself as their leader! That goes against _everything_ I stand for! It goes against everything wielding this sword entails!" He added vehemently as he gripped the hilt of the Sword of the Truth.

"Richard, listen, I—" the woman in red leather started, her facial expression unusually earnest, but her Lord Rahl interrupted her with a sharp swing of his free hand.

"No, Cara," he denied her the right to speak, quite rudely. "I will not hear one more word about 'taking power without asking for permission first'! My decision on the matter is final!"

Zeddicus forced himself not to show any signs of disapproval even as his mind reeled from his grandson's reaction. The blonde woman blinked twice, and her expression went back to her normal mask of indifference. It oddly reminded the wizard of Kahlan during the early times following their departure from Hartland. During those days she would wear her confessor's mask constantly.

"Very well...Lord Rahl," Cara ironically and maybe purposely acknowledged his authority as she took a step backward, then another.

That seemed to bring Richard back to his senses...As he took his hand away from the Sword of Truth.

Had he been under the influence of its magic?

"Cara," he gasped in shock and apology. "Cara, I didn't mean to—"

"I'll wake up Kahlan and the sorceress," the Mord-Sith announced neutrally before pivoting on her heels and walking back towards the camp. Zedd was impressed by her ability to walk on uneven forest ground with those boots.

As soon as she was out of earshot Richard grunted in frustration and crouched to the floor, holding his head.

It took a moment for the wizard to realize that the Seeker was actually in physical pain, not just frustrated with himself for the outburst.

"Richard! Is it your Han?" The older man asked his grandson, but didn't wait for an answer to work a spell to relieve his pain.

"Thank you Zedd," the Seeker said after sighing out and relaxing his muscles. "When Verna warned me that my Han would return, I didn't think that she meant so soon."

"It is fortuitous that she followed us then, my boy," the wizard proposed. "Will you be comfortable being under her tutelage until I return from Aydindril?"

"Yes, of course," Richard agreed readily. "Getting Kahlan to safety is as important as completing the quest: unlike me, she can restore peace and order without needing to kill unnecessarily. The Midlands will be glad to have the Mother Confessor rule fairly and justly from her throne...no, it's a high chair, right? And she'll govern with the help of a Council."

Was it Zeddicus' imagination, or did the boy sound envious?

It was true that Richard had not been groomed to be an absolute monarch. He was a great leader, but he gladly took advice from those more experienced than him. However, no one in D’Hara would take him seriously if he surrounded himself with trustworthy advisors, which he would logically need to do in order to oversee the vast territory he knew so little about.

A discussion for another time. Now that Richard's powers had returned, the wizard's main concern was to assess sister Verna's competence in teaching a young yet powerful wizard to control his Han. She was a sister of the Light, so the mastery of magic was one of her sacred calling, but she had been on the road for twenty-four years, then had been tortured for months at a D'Haran camp. She might have forgotten a few fundamental lessons.

Within an hour, the wizard was glad to find out that Verna's mind was very sharp still. After everyone was through their morning routines, the group erased all traces of their presence around the campsite—no doubts more sisters of the Dark would be after them—and were on their way to one of the most prosperous regions of the Midlands.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll be at the falls at sunset,” Zedd announced as they reached the edge of the forest near Galomar. 

“Is that some place important?” his grandson asked curiously as he noticed Kahlan’s smile.

Sister Verna sighed at the way the Seeker became so easily distracted from her lesson. She'd been making Richard repeat a few basic phrases of the Ancient Tongue, used by most wizards.

“It’s considered the most romantic spot in all the Midlands,” the Mother Confessor informed him. 

“Many a child was conceived beneath those cascading waters,” Zeddicus added with a grin.

“I was there once, it’s beautiful,” Kahlan told the group with a dreamy expression.

“Oh, really? And who were you with?” Richard asked with a smirk.

Zeddicus almost snorted at the Seeker’s fake suspicion.

No man would have courted a confessor, let alone tried to woo her by meeting her at the Falls of Aldamont. 

Interestingly, the wizard detected sorrow shine in Kahlan’s eyes for less than a heartbeat before she smiled and replied that she had been there with her sister. 

What was _that_ about?

“At sunset when the light hits the falls, the water glistens red,” Kahlan described for Richard’s benefit. “They say it’s the reflection of all the lovers’ hearts that kiss there.”

“That, or the reflection of the blood spilled during the Battle of Aldamont,” Cara contributed, drawing Richard’s attention. “Two hundred men were killed in that spot. The rest threw their bodies into the rapids rather than surrender.”

“Well that does sound romantic,” Richard commented with impeccable sarcasm. Even Verna scoffed.

Zeddicus was debating whether or not it was appropriate to privately ask the Mother Confessor about her first time in Aldamont when the group was exposed to an appalling sight.

Two men hanged on a tree, one of them holding a sign.

Without a word, Richard increased his pace to reach the poor souls. Zeddicus had not detected any rift to the underworld in this region, but he still might have to burn the bodies.

The following investigation revealed that it was indeed due time for Kahlan to return home: a pretender terrorizing the Midlands from Aydindril? What man would be bold enough to provoke the ire of the Mother Confessor herself? Did this 'High Regent' truly believe that he could get away with usurping her authority? Did he truly have no concern for his own soul?

When Silas' body showed up cold by magic, likely killed by the men of that usurper, Zeddicus silently promised to leave nothing of that miscreant for Kahlan to even confess.

At least his old friend had resolved the problem of getting to Aydindril in time to stop the worst from happening: he'd provided them Olderan’s Amulet. 

Kahlan's outrage at the injustice oppressing her people as yet another tyrant tried to rule over the Midlands finally made her resolute to leave Richard's side.

While the two of them were granted a private moment to say their goodbyes, Zeddicus approached Verna and reluctantly informed her of Richard's link to the Minders and the rage flowing not so dormant in his blood. He wouldn't have shared that secret with the sorceress if he didn't suspect that Richard's outburst at Cara earlier in the morning was due to his rage.

"Then you should take the Sword of Truth with you, Wizard," Verna argued quietly. "The compass leading you to the Minders' camp was clearly a sign from the Creator. She was trying to show Richard that he was on the wrong quest. He shouldn't be wasting time looking for the Stone of Tears, he should be preparing the world to defend itself from the powerful and evil enemy coming to threaten us all! Darken Rahl used blood-binding magic to nefarious ends, but as you said yourself, many Rahl's started as benevolent rulers. Their powers had been used for good."

"Only for their powers to slowly but surely corrode their morality and tarnish their souls," Zeddicus reminded her. "Richard cannot and _should not_ claim the throne of D'Hara if he cannot master his rage. Being the Seeker is teaching him to be a patient and compassionate leader. I will not have my grandchild lose the progress he's made in the past year and a half by rushing him to take residence in the People' Palace."

"So you admit to rebelling against the will of the Creator for selfish reasons?" The sorceress in red challenged. "You want to keep your grandson safe and comfortable while he could be using his gift to save thousands of people by claiming his birthright as the ruler of D'Hara?"

"Without proper control of his gifts, Richard might turn into a powermongering tyrant just like his brother, his father, and many other Rahls before him," Zedd pointed out with an exasperated huff. "He'd be no use to the thousands of people you want him to save if he cannot master his temper! I just told you that his rage remotely triggers bloodlust in the minds of pacifists. Don't these people, who respect the Creator's gift of life like no other, matter?"

"No one has the luxury of being a pacifist at a time when the Keeper wages war on the living," the sister of the Light argued, "and at a time when an unknown but powerful enemy is amassing his power, ready to attack as soon as the threat of banelings has passed! If you named a new Seeker, I'd have the time to help Richard master his gift while he restored order in D'Hara."

"Richard _is_ the true Seeker," the wizard asserted sharply. "And I'm only letting you teach him how to control his Han because I am urgently needed in Aydindril. Once I help Kahlan bring back peace and order in the capital, I will return to teach my grandson how to use his powers myself. Your moral values do not align with his, he'd soon tired of hearing you lecture him in any case."

The sorceress glared at his belittling comment, but she held her tongue. Zeddicus stood to his full height and nodded in satisfaction, then extended his hand towards her after asserting that Richard and Kahlan were still lost in each other's eyes.

"What?" Verna asked curtly.

"The Rada'Han, sorceress," the wizard demanded quietly.

"Richard will need it if he ever loses control of his Han!" she hissed back. "you just said it yourself, that—"

"I'm not going to take it away," Zeddicus corrected her assumption as he glanced at Cara.

She'd been dutifully keeping watch of their spot, but now she was frowning at the two magic practitioners. Zedd minutely nodded her to approach.

"In view of what happened at the Palace of the Prophets, I think it wise to give it to someone whom Richard would trust... _more_ to control his magic if necessary," Zeddicus made the tough decision with discernment.

"A Mord-Sith?" The Sister of the Light questioned his idea all the same after throwing a skeptical gaze towards the other woman in red duty-bound to serve Richard. "She wouldn't be able to put a Rada'Han around his neck, he'd just order her to stand down!"

"She wouldn't," Zeddicus assured her, "for the same reason that the other Mord-Siths haven't sworn fealty to Richard: none of them are bound to his will by magic."

Verna looked back and forth between the wizard and the Mord-Sith, who kept stepping closer while keeping an eye on Richard and Kahlan.

"You're telling me that a sworn servant of Darken Rahl has been protecting the Seeker of her own free will?" She asked despite the fact that the Mord-Sith was now within earshot. "How did Richard achieve such a miracle? I thought that her loyalty transferred from his brother to him."

"Are you sure that it is a good idea to keep her around, Wizard?" The leather-clad woman questioned with a curious tilt of her head. "She claims that Richard is meant to be a great leader in one breath, but doubts his leadership in the next."

Her condescending stare at the sorceress turned into a look of mild panic when she saw the Rada'Han.

"You already helped Richard with his headaches, didn't you?" Cara urgently asked Zeddicus as she angled her body to hide the sight of the magical collar from the Seeker and the Confessor. "There's no need for _this_. You're going to teach him how to control his powers!" She then pointed out to the sorceress.

If, half a year ago, someone had told Zeddicus that a Mord-Sith would show genuine concern for the Seeker, he would've thought it necessary to cast a sleeping spell on them so they could recover from their obviously advanced state of inebriation.

But after seeing Cara Mason express fear and loss when Richard's death at the hands of Denna made her agiels lose their magic, and unbridled merriment at a jest made by Leo Dane, the old wizard was not surprised to see the blonde woman show more signs of humanity.

She was no longer the killing machine that her order had trained her to be, but a worthy companion to the Seeker, and Zeddicus trusted her to protect his grandson.

"This is just a precautionary measure, child," the wizard reassured the Mord-Sith before whispering an elementary spell of disguise, turning the eye sore of a collar into a silver neck piece. "Use it only as a last resort if the Seeker needs to be restrained."

The new appearance of the magical collar was quite extravagant and would look out of place with Richard's modest attire, but at least it would not alert the world that he was a wizard deprived of his powers.

Cara's lips shifted in displeasure, but she wordlessly slipped the Rada'Han into her travel bag, along with the corresponding key that Sister Verna handed her.

"Last time I was unable to stop Richard when the magic of the Sword of Truth fed his rage," she reminded Zeddicus, speaking behind her teeth because Richard and Kahlan were walking towards them. "How do you expect me to get close enough to put that thing around his neck? It is not the place of a Mord-Sith to _discipline_ the Lord Rahl. I'm here to serve him."

"Last time you weren't expecting him to resist you," Zeddicus quickly pointed out. "You'll be ready this time. Use your agiels if you have to. We all know that he'll recover from the pain.

What a terrible thing to say about his own grandson! But if this was what had to be done to protect him from himself, then so be it. The Mord-Sith understood that, as she indicated with a curt nod before she stepped away from the wizard and sorceress, just when the Seeker and the Mother Confessor got close.

"Everything okay?" Richard inquired as he glanced at Cara's back, a shallow furrow splitting his brow. "I still haven't apologized to her for this morning...I raised my voice at her for trying to persuade me to claim the throne of D'Hara," he recounted for Kahlan's benefit.

"You must understand her point of view, Richard," the true leader of the Midlands pleaded softly. "Cara might have been born in Stowecroft, but D'Hara became her home when she became a Mord-Sith. She's not asking you to crown yourself just so you could use sworn servants to complete your quest...I think that she truly wants you to restore the grandeur of the empire she was proud to be part of for most of her life. "

"An empire where she and the other Mord-Siths answered to no one but the Lord Rahl," Verna added with a disapproving pout before nodding to Richard. "Now it makes sense why she would follow you: she'd do anything to reclaim her status of power, which would be a fair reward for her loyalty when other D'Harans rejected your legitimacy."

"That's not what I meant!" Kahlan objected while keeping her voice down. "Cara's changed. She _cares,_ for all of us," the Confessor claimed as she looked at the Seeker and the wizard. "I've looked into her eyes many times, and she's not the unreadable mistress of torture that she once was. I've seen real emotions reflecting her soul. She's just better at hiding them than the rest of us because of her training... Because she thinks that emotions like _love_ make people weak!"

"That's not surprising," the sister of the Light commented with a sneer. "Mord-Sith are prideful women who think themselves above the laws of men and the laws of the Creator. They thrive on feelings that foster violence: pride, greed, anger, lust, among others. And they value power over everything else."

"Cara believes that _loyalty_ makes one powerful," Kahlan defended the same Mord-Sith that she'd wanted to execute through confession not long ago.

Zeddicus imagined that having Dennee returned to her had allowed the Mother Confessor to forgive Darken Rahl's efficient servant for killing her sister.

"Richard, you know it's true," the Mother Confessor argued as she placed a light hand on the Seeker's shoulder, who was still staring at Cara's back. "Cara didn't initially join us because you're the rightful heir to the throne of D'Hara, and she certainly didn't help us rescue Rachel and the other girls taken by the Mord-Siths because you're the Seeker. She was out for revenge because her own sisters of the agiel had betrayed her."

"Because she betrayed Darken Rahl first," Richard reminded the Mother Confessor as he turned his head towards her. "And she did that because she understood that he wasn't a ruler worthy of her loyalty," he added with a small smile to Kahlan as he gently gripped the hand she still had on his shoulder. "I know that I can trust Cara to help me with the quest to find the Stone of Tears. She's proven herself countless times before."

The woman he loved but whom he couldn't be with returned his smile with a wider one, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

"You, on the other hand," the Seeker addressed Verna in turn, his voice stern, "have tried to keep me away from my quest, all for the sake of a prophecy that was rendered obsolete by a new one. Have you realized, Sister Verna? Cara, who was trained to torture and kill, has assisted me in _saving_ many innocent lives because it's the right thing to do; whereas you, a sworn servant of the Creator, have shown that you do not value all of Her creation equally."

The sister of the Light didn't quite deflate, but her eyes showed that she felt properly chastised by the man half her age.

"You do not have the moral high ground to look down on Cara, sorceress," the Seeker declared solemnly. "If you truly wish to travel with me, you will show respect to my Mord-Sith. She's the reason why I was still alive when you found me."

The admonition was deserved, and thus the sister of the Light promised the Seeker that she would be diplomatic in her interactions with the woman in the other red uniform.

While she did so, Zedd and Kahlan exchanged a look of surprise at Richard's words.

_His_ Mord-Sith?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Thank you for the thoughtful feedback so far :)
> 
> I'm not sure that I got Zedd's voice right in this, but I wanted to get started on the different plotlines.


	3. Mother Confessor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly a re-write of "Torn", and obviously Kahlan wasn't split in two.

The brief blinding light of the amulet’s magic gave way to softer but vibrant colors, the fresh air of the forest replaced with sharp scents of food, worked wood and sweat. Before the sparks of the magic completely disappeared from her peripheral vision, Kahlan felt her chest fill up with joy at the idea of being _home_ after over two years. During most of these two years, she hadn't dared hope to make it back.

“How are you feeling?” Zedd asked quietly, and Kahlan reminded herself that at some point of his life, Zedd had also lived in Aydindril, for much longer than her and Denee.

Oh, Denee! As soon as she solved the problem of the usurper, Kahlan would send a messenger to bring her baby sister back home. 

“All in one piece,” she answered before walking around the building they had landed by. It was a tavern she had never been to, which looked whole albeit in need of a few repairs.

Leaving Richard behind had been hard for Kahlan, but she was already feeling relieved and happy at seeing her hometown still standing proud, signs of destruction minimal. Her mood did not remain high as she thought of that self-proclaimed High Regent, who clearly meant to stay and rule over _her_ Midlands.

As Zedd directed them to another more isolated tavern, Kahlan observed signs of hunger around her. Children were sitting around instead of playing, their clothes looking a size too big. The adults looked on edge, glancing around them with fear in their eyes.

A pang of guilt constricted Kahlan’s chest. These were _her_ people, and she had forsaken them for so long that someone had been bold enough to take over her role.

What did the people of Aydindril think of her? Had they assumed that she would return eventually, or had they lived as if confessors were gone forever?

Zedd used a spell to unlock the abandoned building, opening the door quietly.

“Who goes there?” A vaguely familiar voice immediately called as they entered the tavern.

“Don’t you recognize me, you snake?” the wizard of the First Order called back as he opened the windows with a flick of his wrist, letting light show the shock on Alferon’s face.

“Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander,” Alferon said slowly, his surprise seemingly doubling as his gaze slid cautiously to Kahlan.

She took down the hood of her dark leather dress, and the wizard of the Second Order gasped.

“Kahlan Amnell,” he said. “It is good to see the Mother Confessor in Aydindril again. The spirits have heard my prayers.”

“Do not thank them yet, my friend,” Zedd said as he looked outside the window, and Kahlan could herself see the Confessors Palace from her vantage point.

It was still standing, and the Mother Confessor felt pulled toward it, eager to return home and reassure her people that justice would return to the Midlands.

It had been easy to shun her duties while she was leagues away from her home, too far away to see the consequences of the war against Darken Rahl on her hometown. Now that she was back in the capital, however, Kahlan felt ashamed for arguing against Richard about returning to Aydindril.

Movement outside the window alerted the occupants of the old tavern. A group of men, armed with swords from what Kahlan could tell.

“This way,” Alferon directed as Zedd closed the windows as swiftly as he had opened them.

The wizard of the Second Order made them wind around the streets until they reached a corner of the market crowded enough that they wouldn’t stand out.

Kahlan put her hood back on, just in case someone recognized her.

She saw more soldiers posted at the doors of affluent merchant’s establishments and patrolling the market. Their armor was plain, with no distinctive colors to mark their allegiance. She had seen soldiers wearing double swords before, but couldn’t remember where.

“And Silas?” Alferon asked Zedd, though the confessor could tell that he did not expect any hopeful news about his fellow wizard. 

Richard’s grandfather simply shook his head.

“Silas knew that stealing the Amulet could cost him his life,” Alferon told them as they walked under an unsupervised stand selling ceramic and metal kitchenware. “He was a rare man, willing to make such a sacrifice.”

Kahlan got distracted as she heard men speaking with an accent she rarely heard in Aydindril, though it was familiar to her.

It was not surprising, as she had been to all major regions of the Midlands at least twice since officially assuming her role as a confessor.

She and Zedd turned towards the soldiers, though Kahlan doubted that the old wizard could identify the accent. He had lived in Westland for too long.

“Who are those guards?” the Mother Confessor asked as neutrally as she could, her memory failing her on where she had seen soldiers fighting with two swords before.

“Price Fyren’s men,” Alferon replied, contempt dripping from his voice.

Shock made Kahlan donne her Confessor’s mask instinctively.

“Prince Fyren, of Kelton?” she asked for confirmation, glad for the certainty that neither wizard would know much about the easternmost kingdom of the Midlands. 

They definitely did not know as much about Fyren as she did, though maybe Alferon did now.

All these years, Kahlan had thought the heir of the Keltish crown dead. Kelton had been the first kingdom of the Midlands to fall when Darken Rahl’s army had invaded.

“When Rahl fell, Fyren threw the D’Harans out of Kelton and Aydindril and he jailed the council members and proclaimed himself High Lord Regent,” Alferon informed.

That did not sound like Fyren, but Kahlan knew better than to utter any word in his defense. She shook her head in disbelief instead.

After all, war _changed_ people, especially a war against Darken Rahl. The man Kahlan had known when she was a newly appointed confessor was clearly not the same man who had usurped her role.

“In the forest near Galomar, we found two bodies hanging from a tree bearing the seal of Aydindril around their neck,” Zedd recounted.

Alferon huffed angrily.

“Fyren’s work,” he confirmed. “He’s given bands of hoodlums authority to enforce his laws, mostly archaic or invented, demanding fines. When people can’t pay, or won’t, he makes examples out of them.”

Kahlan could not hear one more word. She felt betrayed, incredulous at the actions of someone she thought was above such lowly acts.

“I’ve heard enough,” she declared with her confessor tone. “Where can I find Price Fyren?”

As if his crimes were not great enough, Fyren had taken upon himself to sit on the Mother Confessor’s High Chair in the hearing room and was currently presiding over petitions.

He was doing it alone, without the input of council members. He had a pair of guards standing behind him and a dozen more posted at all the doors - intimidating the people against rebelling, no doubt - while he sat slouching on Serena’s chair.

No, it was _Kahlan’s_ chair now. The fact that she had never sat on it did not change that truth.

“There are too many soldiers, we cannot engage them in a fight without risking harming innocents,” Zedd quietly told Kahlan as they looked on while Fyren condemned poor citizens to punishments harsher than they deserved.

“We need to get you close so that you can confess him,” Alferon suggested. “Anyone suspected of a crime can be brought to him. The line of accused is getting shorter already.”

“And what crime could she possibly be accused of?” Zedd asked with a frown.

Kahlan didn’t feel offended by the suggestion to have her pass for a courtesan who stole her client’s gold.

She had no room left in her mind and heart for more emotions, as she was overwhelmed by anger and sorrow.

Anger at being betrayed by a man who had once claimed that he would gladly give away his birthright and his soul to remain by her side.

Sorrow at seeing an old friend who had clearly lost a lot during the war. She could see it in the hollowness of his eyes, cloudy when they used to be as bright as a clear sky.

His nonchalant movements betrayed his disinterest in being in the room in the first place. Even as he passed sentences, his gaze would wander around the room or he would stare ahead without seeing anyone.

As she readied herself to enslave Fyren’s soul, Kahlan wondered if the war had already claimed it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> I hope to post the next update very soon since this was mostly copy-pasting the script of a show episode.


	4. Mord-Sith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer because it was one of the first I wrote. I hope that you enjoy it, and that you remember both seasons of the show, because I'm about to bring characters that I liked and bringing up a theory that I've had about the odd relationship between Cara and Darken Rahl.

“This is nice,” Richard commented as they and the sister of the Light kept going southward, the supposed ‘edge’ of the forest never ending. They would have sore feet by sunset. Well, Maybe not the sorceress. She was walking a dozen paces ahead of them, her twenty four years of travelling experience putting their younger bodies to shame.

Cara had no care for the sight, but she was grateful that their brisk pace would allow them to reach the falls before dark, because she would then get the opportunity to wash under high-pressure water. She needed it because she had a stubborn knot on her back from the fight against the sisters of the Dark right outside the Valley of Perdition. The ache was gradually turning from uncomfortable to painful.

The Mord-Sith missed having access to luxuries from the temples such as hot perfumed baths and full body massages. Those had been a routine after long days of training or returning from missions, to keep the Lord Rahl’s elite bodyguards in pristine shape. Nowadays, Cara relied on the stretches she’d used to stay limber as a trainee. The stretches usually got the job done, but they obviously weren’t enough for this pesky back ache.

Aldamont was a city known for its wealth, and it definitely would provide the Seeker’s retinue much needed comfort. But the Mord-Sith didn’t want to delay tending to her potential handicap. Richard needed her at her best at all times. 

For now, anyways, she had to make small talk with her Lord Rahl. 

“What could be ‘nice’ about walking in a boring forest?” She asked, sighing inwardly at the flippant tone she’d used without thinking.

Oh, well. Richard didn’t mind. Even Darken Rahl had let her get away with witty comebacks at first...Until he abruptly started reminding her that she was his servant, not his advisor and certainly not his queen. An odd turn of phrase considering that Mord-Siths were never taken as their master's wives, even when they gave him heirs.

_When did you become queen? I must have missed the coronation._

Trianna, that ungrateful wench. Without Cara, the Order of the Mord-Siths would've eventually been decimated. Cara had saved them all. No one else could've done it, because none other than Cara would've dared stand against their tyrant of a master.

That was the only reason why Darken Rahl had favored Denna and Garren over Cara, despite the fact that she was by far more efficient than those two combined: they didn't challenge his orders or question the validity of his plans. Even after multiple ‘re-training’ sessions, followed by the most bizarre healing spells by wizards who eyed her with fascination, Cara’s tongue would still be as sharp as the first caress of an agiel. So Darken Rahl would send her away to complete perilous missions, and would bed her only when the others bored him.

“Hey, forests are very interesting!” the Seeker's objection brought the Mord-Sith out of her musings.

“You only say that because you used to be a woods guide,” she countered with an eyeroll.

And Leo Dane had been a blacksmith. The low status of chosen Seekers had always been a source of mockery for the high-ranked servants of the Lord Rahl. Why should anyone defer to a commoner?

Richard was about to counter-argue when a high-pitched scream resonated, coming from a few hundred paces ahead.

Verna looked back at Richard and Cara, and after a heartbeat of silence the three of them stalked towards the voices with careful strides across the uneven forest floor.

Cara first noticed the horses, then the group of men standing behind a pair of teenagers bound at the wrists with a rope. A man who seemed to be the leader of this sorry band of miscreants was holding a dagger in his hand, talking to the wide-eyed children.

Cara and Richard followed the sorceress’s lead and dropped their bags as they approached the group.

“Let them go,” Richard then spoke up as he unsheathed the Sword of Truth.

Of course, the men happened to be in the service of that usurping Lord Regent of the Midlands, and thought it would be smart to go against the Seeker and a Mord-Sith in a fight. They probably didn’t even know that the older woman in red robes was dangerous in her own right as well.

Richard backhanded the man with the dagger, sending him to the floor so he could cut off the rope tying the teenagers, who smartly scurried off to wherever they'd come from.

Cara kneeled over the man on the ground and shoved one of her agiels directly on his chest, all the while staring at his companions. They gasped in horror as they heard their leader scream in agony.

It was always a delight for Cara to see horror in the eyes of people witnessing the power of her weapons for the first time.

“Cara,” the Seeker called out just before the man could die.

Huffing in exasperation, the Mord-Sith removed her agiel and stood back up, mildly satisfied to see that the leader of the bandits had fainted.

“ _This_ will be your fate as well if you keep serving this Lord Regent,” Richard warned the other men as he pointed to Cara’s victim.

“That, or becoming a slave to the Mother Confessor,” Cara added.

“ _The Mother Confessor?_ ” one of the men repeated with a scoff. “All the confessors are dead!”

“The Mother Confessor is alive and well,” Richard corrected him. “Who do you think told me that this Lord Regent is a usurper?”

The bandits looked at each other, clearly in disbelief but unwilling to take their turn at tasting the edge of the Sword of Truth or the kiss of Cara’s agiels.

“We don’t want any trouble,” the biggest of them said, lifting both hands. “We’ll just go our way.”

“First give us your best horses,” Cara demanded as she pointed at the tied up animals with the agiel on her left hand.

The large man opened his mouth as if to object to the demand, but then nodded a few times as he pushed one of his companions to satisfy the demand.

Two of the bandits went around Richard and Cara to drag their leader away.

“Now that we have horses, are we going to Aydindril or continuing south?” the Mord-Sith asked her master once the hoodlums were out of sight.

“And do _what_ in Aydindril?” Verna questioned with a frown, but Cara ignored her.

The sorceress might think that the Mother Confessor would take a mate in Aydindril to continue the line of confessors, but Cara knew that Kahlan was more likely to weep herself to sleep after long days of tedious politics, her heart breaking over Richard's absence.

Richard himself didn’t reply to either question, stalling as he tied his bag to his horse instead.

“The longer we delay on our quest to find the Stone of Tears, the more powerful the Keeper grows,” he stated evenly as he mounted the dark mare.

What he wasn’t saying was that the faster they completed the quest, the faster he could reunite with Kahlan.

“I’ll make sure to remind you that the next time you suggest we help a farmer harvest his crops,” Cara commented as she adjusted the saddle of her stallion before mounting it.

“The looming storm would have destroyed those crops!” The Seeker defended with passion.

Cara only narrowed her eyes at him, and Richard raised his eyebrows in return, and a comfortable silence fell between them as they stirred their mounts southward, to wherever the compass was pointing.

After spending an hour listening to whatever the sorceress was teaching him, Richard let his horse catch up to Cara's as she surveyed the path leading out of the forest and towards Aldamont. 

“Earlier, I meant that it was nice to travel efficiently,” Richard eventually said. “It’s unexpected, considering the sedate pace she used on our way to the Palace of the Prophets, but Verna is clearly a more endurant traveller than us. Of course we’re going faster with the horses now, but even before we got them, we were making good time.”

“That’s because Zedd isn’t here, and he always makes us stop for meals,” Cara pointed out. “You and Kahlan even indulge his theatrics when he pretends to strain a muscle, when really he’s just being lazy.”

Richard just shrugged his shoulders. Sometimes Cara wondered how such a carefree group of people had thwarted all of Darken Rahl’s plans to eliminate them.

After a few minutes of silence, they started hearing the falls, though they were still a couple of hundred paces away.

“We can bypass the falls and get directly to Aldamont.” Cara proposed as they took a short break to stretch their legs and let the horses drink from the falls' downstream.

Knowing how sentimental Richard was, he’d probably prefer to see them first with Kahlan. 

“What, you don’t want to see the reflection of those fierce soldiers' blood, spilled at the Battle of Aldamont?” Richard asked her sarcastically.

Cara simply rolled her head away from him, lifting her eyes to the sky.

“I wanted to apologize about this morning,” the Seeker abruptly changed subjects, giving her a small smile when she looked back at him with surprise. “I think that Zedd is right, it was the Sword’s magic mixing with—”

“Richard,” she cut him off as respectfully as she could. “I’m not Kahlan, I don’t get offended by you raising your voice at me. Believe me, it’s nothing compared to a private re-training session with Darken Rahl…”

Ah.

She didn’t look away from Richard’s appalled expression, but she wished she could take her words back.

“You’re not Darken Rahl, is what I meant to say,” she resumed with an even tone. “You’re the Seeker. I know that you do not mean any harm.”

“Yet I have harmed you before, exactly because of my rage,” he pointed out with a loud exhale as he stared ahead, watching the back of the sister of the Light, who was already getting back on her horse. “I’m glad that it didn’t happen this time. I guess I have my headaches to thank for. My undeveloped powers might serve a purpose yet!” He added in jest when they mounted their horses too and let Verna take the lead this time.

The Seeker did not understand how exceptional he was. Darken Rahl would’ve killed to appropriate the strong powers awakening in Richard. The tyrant had practiced magic, but he'd needed the services of lesser wizards and sorcerers to weave or reinforce spells around the People’s Palace, as well as to heal the faithful servants he tortured to an inch of their lives. He certainly hadn't been powerful enough to fully bend Cara's mind to his will.

“I understand that my Han is a part of me, and I shouldn’t resent having it,” Richard spoke again, more quietly, not wanting the wind to carry his words to Verna’s ears. “It’s just that the timing couldn’t be less convenient.”

Agreed. Cara was sorry for Leo’s death, more so than she cared to admit, but it was for the best that Richard had returned. Cara had mocked Kahlan for being so strongly affected by his absence, but after a few more weeks the Mord-Sith hadn’t felt like herself either. It had to be because of her magical connection to her Master Rahl, which was stronger than the one she'd had with Darken. 

She’d been by Richard's side almost every day for five moons before the sisters of the Light had taken him away, and she'd traveled with him for a long time in that terrible future as well—neither of them had known who he truly was at the time, but now it made sense, how well they’d worked together despite thinking themselves sworn enemies.

“Which is why I can’t thank you enough for joining me on this quest, Cara,” the Seeker added, making her sit a little taller on her steed. “You protected Kahlan as I asked you to. I don’t believe in prophecy, I believe in logic and doing the right thing, and the right thing is for the Mother Confessor to restore order and peace to the Midlands. So long as the world has confessors, indeed the Keeper cannot win. So you didn’t just do right by me, Cara. Your bravery and steadfast loyalty did right by millions of other people.”

The Mord-Sith managed to keep her head high even as her good mood collapsed.

The Midlanders had their rulers back, but what about D’Harans? Did they not deserve order and peace to be restored to their home too?

“And I wouldn’t be a true Seeker if I didn’t acknowledge the hypocrisy of my words and actions of late,” Richard’s next words had Cara’s eyes widen.

She stared at her master, who was still looking at Verna.

“I didn’t leave the Palace of the Prophets because I think myself the only Seeker capable of defeating the Keeper,” he confessed. “I left because I couldn’t stand the thought of outliving the people I love for the sake of learning magic. The idea of not seeing Kahlan, Zedd and you ever again was simply unconceivable.”

Car remained silent, stunned by the Seeker’s words. 

Lord Rahl counted her among the people he loved. Not just respected or appreciated. He’d used the word ‘love’.

_I’m not sure love makes a person weak, Cara._

Clearly it didn’t. Richard was the strongest person that the Mord-Sith knew.

“I know that I shouldn’t be partial,” the Seeker admitted with a huff as he stared at his hands, closed around his horse's reigns. “And most of the time, I’m not. But deep down, I do try my hardest for those closest to my heart. If I lost you three, I’d still have to fight for Jennsen, and Dennee, and for all the friends and allies I’ve made in the Midlands over the years. I’d still have to fight so that Rachel and other children's future will be bright and peaceful. But first and foremost, I fight for the people I want to be with every day, alive and well. I just can’t say that out loud to Zedd and Kahlan, even though they themselves show signs of favoritism at times.”

Yes, very much so. Cara knew that the Mother Confessor wouldn’t hurt her today, but moons ago she wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her through the excruciating pain of confession. She'd only allowed Cara to join their group because Cara could protect Richard, who wasn’t just the Seeker or the true Lord Rahl, but the man that Kahlan Amnell loved.

"But I know that you understand me," Richard declared as he looked up and straight into her eyes. "You know how it feels, because you were there with me in that terrible future, where everyone we knew and cared for was gone. I saw your expression when you recognized the skeletons at your ruined temple. I'd never seen a Mord-Sith emote like that before."

Cara stopped herself from denying ever emoting 'like that', even if it had been only temporarily. She remembered putting herself together fairly quickly, and letting anger fuel her purpose to kill that male confessor. 

“You’re also the only Mord-Sith I know who fights for something greater than herself,” Richard declared confidently, and the Mord-Sith reacted automatically.

“I do whatever the Lord Rahl commands me,” she recited.

She bristled at the fond smile the Seeker gave her, and when she frowned he chuckled and shook his head.

“You can deny it all you want, Cara, it doesn’t make it any less true,” he argued. “You helped me defeat Darken Rahl, then your absolute master, because you’d seen his legacy, and you didn’t want the world to fall apart because of him. And when I explicitly told you that I wasn’t going to claim the throne of D'Hara, you said that I’d need you all the more for my quest...as the Seeker. A quest to save people you don’t even care to know.”

“I do it because it's what you want me to do,” Cara explained without missing a beat.

“Then why have you spent this entire time trying to convince me to assume my title, when you know that I _do not_ want it?” He challenged her.

She didn’t think twice. She’d always been truthful even when it wasn’t deemed appropriate, and the Seeker encouraged that trait of her personality.

“Because it’s _your duty!_ ” She asserted. “You are the Master Rahl. You are supposed to guide us, protect us, enlighten us, and humble us when we’re in the wrong!”

“That’s not what Darken Rahl did,” Richard calmly countered.

“Because Darken Rahl was not the true Lord Rahl, but you are!” The Mord-Sith told him. “You are a great leader Richard. You are bold enough and yes, ruthless enough. I’ve seen it!” She insisted when he started to object to her last point. “You made a squadron of the Dragon Corps work shoulder-to-shoulder with fierce rebels at Ehrengard. You accepted to sacrifice their lives to rescue little girls. You might not care for D’Haran soldiers, but would you claim that the rebels’ lives are less important than Rachel and the other girls'?”

“Of course not,” the Seeker replied with a pinched brow. “But they were ready to die for the cause—”

“And _I_ am ready to die for _you!_ ” Cara almost shouted. “You do not need to threaten people or bind their minds to your will, Richard. D’Harans will follow you because you’re the true Lord Rahl. They’d realize it if they met you, but you’re not even giving them a chance! You're always ready to sacrifice yourself for the innocent people of the Midlands, but what about the innocent people of D'Hara? Aren’t you supposed to care for _all_ of them, Seeker?” 

The Mord-Sith’s voice cracked on the only title that Richard carried with pride, even though it was neither his by birth nor until death. There could be other seekers, but there was only one Lord Rahl. Richard was the last male of his bloodline. He might not even have children because he was in love with a woman he couldn’t lie with!

Cara almost startled when Richard’s hand reached across the distance between them to touch her arm.

She hadn’t even noticed that they’d stopped their horses. So had the sister of the Light, but she was much ahead of them now.

“Thank you for your honesty, Cara,” Richard told her, that fond smile stretching his lips again, but it was somehow softer, and his eyes shone with pride.

What?

“You're right, I cannot care for the fate of the Midlands then ignore the plights of D'Harans,” he agreed. “That's partly what I meant, when I said that I need to acknowledge the hypocrisy of my words and actions of late.”

Cara blinked, disbelieving.

Just like that, he'd changed his mind about claiming the throne?

“I need to try restoring order and peace in D’Hara, but my way: without bloodshed,” he announced firmly as he took his hand away from her arm, and a part of the Mord-Sith lamented the loss of his warmth. “There's got to be a way to accomplish that. If I don't even try, then I am indeed doing the Keeper's bidding.”

Cara had to squeeze her hands tightly around the reigns of her stallion to ignore the irrational urge to reach out and grip Richard’s hand in gratitude. She was the one who owed him thanks, not the other way around.

But he was her master, not her friend, regardless of his claims of affection towards her. He didn’t owe her any gestures of comfort. 

“But I don’t think that it will be as easy as just peacefully conferring with D'Haran soldiers, Mistress Cara,” the Seeker claimed, and the Mord-Sith blinked anew at his first use of her title.

“You’re a leader among the Mord-Siths, aren’t you?” He asked rhetorically as he gently flanked his mare to start moving again, and Cara followed suit. “I guessed it from the time we met, but then you were betrayed by your sisters, so I believed I’d been mistaken. But Denna immediately recognized you, even though you two weren’t from the same temple. For Darken Rahl’s right hand to personally know you...”

“You want me to convince other Mord-Siths to swear their allegiance to you,” Cara guessed. “If D’Harans see you escorted by your sworn bodyguards, whose powers are directly linked to your blood, they wouldn’t dare contest your authority...because _we_ wouldn’t hesitate to kill insubordinate soldiers to make an example of them.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” the Seeker replied concisely.

“What about the quest?” Cara asked as they caught up with the sorceress.

“You two know the Midlands better than me,” Richard addressed them both instead of answering the question. “What's south of Aldamont? I feel like I know where we're going, but I definitely haven't been to this corner of the Midlands before."

"There's not much after Aldamont," Verna answered with a frown. "It's just more forest for a week. Ah, only a few days by horseback. Then there's a mountain range, two in fact, separated by…"

"Coney river, its northernmost branch supplying water to the Azarith Creek," Cara took over, her eyebrows rising before she exchanged a knowing look with the Seeker. "Named so by the D'Harans originating from the Azarith Plains on the other side of the border. They first settled in the area under a time of peace between D'Hara and the Midlands. When Panis Rahl ascended, he had an impregnable fort built there, nicknamed 'Azarith' because soldiers felt as safe there as if they were home. The fort supplied D'Haran garrisons in that Midland region in times of war. With Darken Rahl dead, the area must be full to the brim with soldiers fleeing those garrisons. The creek is lush enough to provide food for them without import from D'Hara. There's even a Mord-Sith temple there, to keep order between the different squadrons that would otherwise clash against one another."

"Would the Mord-Siths succeed at keeping the peace now that Darken Rahl is dead?" Richard questioned.

"A few moons ago, I would've said no," Cara admitted. "But after seeing how Denna managed to survive...Maybe the Mord-Siths in Azarith gave away the temple slaves to the soldiers to keep them entertained in their relative confinement."

"For all we know, the Midlanders already found a way to chase them all out of the creek," Verna speculated. "Kelton isn't too far away, and when I was a prisoner at a D'Haran camp, I heard that its prince survived the war. He'd want revenge."

"Maybe," the Seeker conceded. "We'll see if the compass keeps pointing south."

Cara could tell that he was certain that it would.

  
  



	5. Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ! There was minor editing done in last chapter that's not really important but is relevant for the next chapter.
> 
> After reviewing the (original) map of the New World, I realized that the Azarith Plains are in D'Hara, not in the Midlands. So I edited chapter 4 and made up an explanation for why a fort on the Midlands side is also called Azarith. I'm writing the impregnable fort of Azarith as the same fort Archer Dunn came from. Dunn is the D'Haran soldier that Richard impersonated in S1 E17 "Deception".

Fyren was about to declare the hearing time adjourned when he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, and his hand automatically dropped to his sword.

He looked up, and for a moment could not believe his eyes. But after he took a quiet breath and what he first thought an illusion didn’t dissipate, he believed what his senses were telling him.

One of his men had escorted an exquisite lady toward him, briefly grabbing her arm before he urged her forward. Fyren fought a smile at the thought that the soldier would pale at the realization that he had touched the Mother Confessor herself.

To the guard’s defense, he could not see her face, for it was hidden under a hood. Furthermore, it was quite difficult to imagine the rightful ruler of the Midlands wearing such suggestive attire. Her bosom was almost spilling out of her bodice.

Fyren had met Kahlan Amnell only ten times over half as many years, each time for mere hours. He had used every second of them to commit everything about the exceptional woman to memory: the graceful length of her neck, the color of her hair, the efficient gait of her walk, the timbre of her voice, even the shape of her nails. Most importantly, he’d learned to recognize the silent, invisible, and almost tangible power of her mere presence. Fyren was no wizard, so he couldn't tell if that aura of sorts was related to her confessor's powers, but he would wager that it was just _her._

The High Lord Regent stood up, drawing confused looks from his men as well as the fearful gazes from the crowd of onlookers.

The woman in the dark dress had stopped a few paces from him, but didn’t appear alarmed by his move.

“People of Aydindril,” Fyren called aloud, adopting a tone his departed mother Queen Anya would have been proud of.

While scanning the room, he detected two older men standing close to an entrance door, their robes suggesting that they were scholars...no, wizards.

Like the man who had been reported to disappear after stealing an object from the treasury. It seemed that the Midlands had him to think for Kahlan's return.

“Moons ago,” Fyren recounted, “I rid these lands of the D’Harans and restored peace to Aydindril.”

He pretended not to notice how the shoulders of the woman in front of him tensed upon hearing his words.

“I sat on this chair because no one else was willing to rule harshly enough to bring the Midlands out of a state of chaos and fear, back into a state of prosperity,” he explained. 

His men nodded their heads, but the crowd remained fretfully silent.

“I know what you all call me behind my back,” he admitted as he stood taller and lifted his chin. “The usurper.”

He almost laughed at the synchronicity of the crowd, each person’s gaze dropping to the floor to avoid his.

“It is true that I have no right to sit here,” he admitted as he tapped the arm rest with his left hand. “I am not the Mother Confessor. But everything I have done since I took the title of High Lord Regent was to bring back the rightful ruler of the Midlands. And I am pleased to inform you that she has finally returned.”

A torrent of hushed exclamations rained down in the room, and people’s eyes darted left and right to verify Fyren’s claim.

The prince glanced at the two old men, who were marching closer to the center of the room.

The sound of his guards fidgeting behind him made Fyren look back to the person standing in front of him, who was now closer than before. Close enough that, if he didn’t move, she could get her hand to his neck and steal his soul.

She wrenched down her hood, and a collective gasp resonated as she turned around to face the crowd.

Fyren raised a hand to still his men, to whom he had never shared the details of his plan when he’d taken over Aydindril: compel Kahlan Amnell to return to the Midlands by usurping her title.

He knew that most of his soldiers speculated that he wished to take over all the Midlands and grow Kelton to become an empire rivaling D’Hara.

What a foolish plan that would be. Fyren was but one man with no heir, how could he assure his subjects’ loyalty across so many territories? Look at what D’Hara had come to after the fall of Darken Rahl. 

“I am Kahlan Amnell,” the Mother Confessor introduced herself, slowly walking backwards up the steps to her seat.

Fyren stepped aside, letting her stand tall over her high chair.

“Now that I have returned, Prince Fyren will no longer preside over hearings, nor will he have any say in the affairs of the Midlands, except those concerning Kelton. All of his edicts will be subject to my review. There will be no more unjust fines or executions. The Rule of Law will be restored to the Midlands.”

The joyous cheers and rounds of applause wounded Fyren’s pride, but he remained still by the Mother Confessor’s side, shaking his head at any of his men who glanced at him, ready to challenge the woman who had unseated their leader from the highest seat of power in the Midlands.

How things had changed. Not three years ago, no one would’ve ever thought of challenging a confessor. But rumors of the entire order going extinct had made some of the people lose the reverence duly owed to the judges above kings and queens.

Once the rumors were disproven, maybe justice, peace and prosperity would spontaneously return to the Midlands.

“Hearings will resume at the second bell tomorrow,” Kahlan decreted. “Spread the words of my return, and let all know that those who have been punished by Prince Fyren will be contacted by the Council to be pardoned when applicable.”

After another round of cheers, people filed out of the room. Only Fyren’s men and the two wizards were left by the time the room was quiet again.

The future king of Kelton was about to break the tense silence when a small hand lightly gripped his throat.

“Give me _one_ reason not to confess you this very moment,” Kahlan hissed quietly, her bright eyes glinting like the steel of a newly sharpened blade.

Fyren swallowed his yelp of surprise, then felt his face warm at the realization that this was the first time that the woman of his dreams was touching him _skin to skin_.

“Because you know that I’d like nothing more than to be your slave, Kay,” he whispered while maintaining a calm demeanor, lest his already panicked soldiers decided to intervene.

As if she had touched fire, the Mother Confessor snatched her hand back from his neck.

“Why didn’t you confess him?” the shorter of the two wizards asked as they stepped closer. “More of his men are sure to arrive once word of your return spread in the city!”

“My men are Midlanders like everyone else,” Fyren reminded the old fool, “which means that there are at the service of the Mother Confessor.”

The wizard was about to argue, but his taller companion interrupted him with the raise of a hand.

“Kahlan?” he called.

The Mother Confessor’s eyes had not left Fyren’s face this entire time, and he indulged in a wry smile as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m fine, Zedd,” she said as she finally turned to face her friends. “I need to talk with Prince Fyren in private.”

The so called Zedd—that name was vaguely familiar to the prince—didn’t look pleased with her decision, and his companion looked downright outraged.

“This man usurped your title!” the shorter wizard reminded her with an accusatory finger pointed at Fyren. “He jailed the council members…”

“I did no such thing,” Fyren immediately denied. “When I arrived here, they were already in the dungeons, sick or starving. I have made sure that they received all the care befitting their station since. They were too weak to resume their roles."

Kahlan almost rolled her eyes. _Almost._ Interesting.

“Is it truly prudent to talk to him alone?” the Zedd fellow simply asked, his old but likely wise eyes scrutinizing him.

“Trust me, Zedd,” Kahlan requested softly.

The old man stared at her for a moment before nodding his assent, and he grabbed his shorter friend’s arm to pacify him.

“Leave your sword,” the Mother Confessor ordered Fyren as she walked down the stairs to the back of the room, which led to the Mother Confessor’s office.

“See that these men receive everything they need,” Fyren ordered his men loudly as he unbuckled his sword belt.

“Bring me water and some of that wine I reserved a fortnight ago,” he whispered to the young soldier he handed his sword to. “And hide the rest of it for the celebration of our departure. We’re going home soon.”

“Your Highness,” the lad acknowledged with a deep nod before hurrying out.

The walk to the Mother Confessor’s office was awfully quiet, the rhythmic clack of his boots hitting the stone floor the only sound interrupting the tense silence. Her steps were barely audible, as always.

Fyren knew that Kahlan was furious at him, she had every right to be. He had not done the most impeccable job ruling the Midlands in her stead, he knew that. The boring administrative duties of leadership had always peeved him, even when his father was still trying to groom him to take over the throne of Kelton.

So it was with deep surprise that the prince returned the tight embrace that the Mother Confessor gave him once they were behind the closed door of her solar.

“I thought you were dead,” she justified her rare gesture of affection right after she swiftly stepped away from him, her eyes shining with unshed tears of relief.

Ah, so she _had_ missed him. He hadn’t been sure that she remembered him at all, what with those rumors about the undying love uniting the Mother Confessor to the _Seeker_.

“I thought the same of you until the turn of the calendar,” Fyren admitted, not without emotions of his own.

He remembered how he'd almost given up during the war when rumors that all the confessors had been slaughtered by the Mord-Siths reached him. But after the Dragon Corps had breached the royal castle and killed the queen and all of the keltish nobles unfit for battle or too important to sacrifice them to it, Fyren had been the only authority figure who could issue a general retreat of the Keltish army and plead for safe passage to neighboring kingdoms—including Kelton's historical rival, Galea.

After news of Darken Rahl's demise had reached his ears along with the news that Mother Confessor Kahlan Amnell was alive and well, a revitalized Fyren had sent messengers to his scattered army, and had tasked his brave soldiers to cut down the still invading and still fighting D'Haran army, one unsuspecting company at a time, through swift and brutal ambushes on the territory they knew much better than the dead tyrant's stubborn soldiers. The prince himself had fell many an enemy without sustaining any debilitating injury because he'd been driven by the burning determination to not just avenge his family and his people, but also to prove to Kahlan that he would be a valuable ally who, unlike his father, would help her bring back and maintain peace and prosperity between all regions of the Midlands.

But after a while spent vainly awaiting for his summon to Aydindril, postponing his coronation in the hope that the Mother Confessor might be available to attend the ceremony, Fyren had learned that she was reportedly galavanting with the Seeker—whom she loved!—his wizard, and a _Mord-Sith_ that Kahlan herself had protected from execution in Stowecroft. Some rumors even claimed that the Seeker meant to sit on the throne of D'Hara! How could the Mother Confessor herself let him do that? Did she plan on becoming his queen?

After all that _everyone_ in the Midlands had suffered at the hands of the D'Harans because of Darken Rahl, how could Fyren accept the fact that the woman he'd come to admire then love had abandoned them all to befriend the most cruel of the tyrant's servants, and to entertain the dreams of grandeur of a Seeker meaning to replace that same tyrant? 

He couldn't accept it, which was why he'd travelled to Aydindril with a company of his best soldiers, ridding the Midlands of the D'Harans he met on his way there, and chasing out those he found in the capital of the Midlands. He replaced gratuitous violence and chaos with organized crime, half by negligence and half in defiance, daring the Mother Confessor to come home and punish him. But entire weeks then entire months passed, and no report of people sighting Kahlan Amnell on her way to Aydindril was brought to him as he sat on her high chair. 

He still couldn’t understand how she'd just forsaken her sacred duty. Kahlan was no ordinary woman and, in his critical opinion as a Keltish, she was no ordinary confessor either. She couldn’t have possibly acted so selfishly just to be by her lover’s side—not that he was her lover, was he? They couldn’t be together, not _that way_ , or the Seeker would lose his soul.

“What took you so long, Mother Confessor?” The future king asked sharply to the only person in the world who had authority over him. “I thought that I might have to start executing your council to draw you back home.”

“Don’t you dare jest about the suffering you have caused by usurping me!” Kahlan chided him, and yes, _this_ was the Kahlan Amnell he knew: strict, righteous, and so damnably beautiful, especially in _that_ dress.

“Look at this!” she waved at the piles of unsealed scrolls that had accumulated on the main desk of the office, collecting dust as Fyren had never bothered touching them. He'd rarely come to this room to do more than sip on wine while listening to reports of his arbitrarily assigned law enforcers.

“Do you truly mean to reprimand _me_ for shirking my responsibilities?” He could not help but ask pointedly, clearing his throat to suppress the chuckle that almost escaped it when Kahlan deflated immediately.

“I knew that I was needed back in Aydindril,” she amended carefully. “I’ve wanted to come home ever since I was elected as Serena’s successor. But my priority was to assist the Seeker in his quest.”

“To defeat Darken Rahl,” Fyren recalled with a curt nod, “which he did, _six moons ago!_ ”

“Richard has been on a new quest!” Kahlan informed him. “There is a rift between the world of the living and the Underworld. The Keeper has been waging war on us ever since the Boxes of Orden were destroyed in the fight between Richard and Darken Rahl. It is Richard's duty to seal that rift, which he will, but in view of the unforeseen dangers of his new quest, I thought it my duty to help him complete it!”

Oh. That explained all the traveling. So the rumors were false? There was no Mord-Sith, and the Seeker had no intention to rule over D'Hara? In any case, one thing was for certain.

“ _Richard_ ,” Fyren repeated bitterly, resenting the obvious admiration and affection Kahlan expressed when she talked about the wielder of the Sword of Truth.

The same admiration and affection she had done her best not to return the prince, even when he’d professed his devotion to her in Aldamont, in the most romantic spot of the Midlands.

He’d had to manipulate then Mother Confessor Serena with a promise of a parley with Galea—through his unlikely friendship with Prince Harold—in order to have the Amnell sisters specifically sent to ensure peaceful negotiations at the neutral and wealthy town of Aldamont in the south. Fyren had sent a messenger to Kahlan and Dennee once they'd arrived, inviting them to a false urgent meeting at the famed falls of Aldamont. After admiring the sight for a few minutes, the astute Dennee had walked back to the tavern where the two confessors had stayed, leaving her elder sister with the prince.

Until that day, Kahlan had rebuked Fyren's few but passionate attempts to court her—he'd first disliked the 'meddling' confessor, but had gradually fallen for her beauty and strength of character—but even she had been mellowed by the beauty of the waters shimmering red all around them. Mind you, she hadn't granted him the kiss he'd sought from her, not even on her hand, but Fyren had been pleased with the way she'd blushed and smiled shyly even as she'd reprimanded him for deceiving her. Young and foolishly mad in love as he'd been, Fyren had professed his love to the woman of his dreams and had begged her to confess him on the spot. He had even come up with a valid argument for his request: she could order him to keep his confession secret, and when the time came for him to ascend to the throne of Kelton, he'd work hard to establish long-lasting peace between his people and the Galeans, knowing that it was what she wished for!

Of course Kahlan had rejected his request, but that long-lasting peace was what Fyren now aimed at negotiating, with Queen Cyrilla this time. Like him, she was the only surviving member of her kingdom's royal family, and as soon as he returned home and crowned himself king, Fyren would sign a peace treaty with her. The two of them and Queen Corah of Caddock were three monarchs in the Midlands who’d unlikely or prematurely become the rulers of their kingdoms because of Darken Rahl. At least they'd _survived_ the war, while many other provinces were presently left with no rightful leader.

The way Kahlan spoke of this Richard, one would think that he could singlehandedly help her restore peace and prosperity to those unfortunate territories.

“Richard Cypher,” the Mother Confessor confirmed with a nod, apparently believing Fyren ignorant of the Seeker’s full name. “Or rather, Richard _Rahl_ , legitimate heir to the throne of D’Hara.”

“I beg your pardon?” the prince of Kelton reacted in shock, wondering if he'd fallen asleep on the Mother Confessor's high chair earlier and has been dreaming the last ten minutes.

“Richard doesn’t want the throne of D'Hara,” Kahlan informed him as she rounded her desk, frowning at the scrolls amassed in disarray. “Even if he did, he cannot claim it for the moment since he’s on a quest. But I hope to eventually convince him to declare himself the new Lord Rahl. With Darken Rahl dead, his empire has plunged into chaos. D’Harans need a strong and better leadership to recover from the war, and I do not know anyone more fit for that challenge than the Seeker.”

“The Seeker is a Rahl?” Fyren asked, baffled. “I thought that he was a woodsguide from some remote town! Brennidon, right?”

“Brennidon is remote to you in Kelton, but it isn't far from here," Kahlan pointed out as she grouped the scrolls in whatever order made sense to her. "But Richard grew up in Hartland, a prominent town in Westland. So I suppose that he is in fact from a 'remote town'.”

“How did a woodsguide from beyond the Boundary become Darken Rahl’s _rightful successor_?” the future king of Kelton inquired.

“That is not for you to know,” the Mother Confessor denied him the information as she looked up from a scroll she had opened. “I wouldn’t lie about that, you know me.”

“I thought that I knew you, Kay,” Fyren conceded. “But I was clearly mistaken. You abandoned us to remain by the side of this Richard Rahl, that is clear to me now. Everyone knows that the Seeker needs a wizard and a confessor to help him on his quests, but couldn’t you have assigned _another_ confessor to protect the Seeker? You were needed _here!_ ”

He startled at the way her face paled, but before she could reply, there was a rasp at the door.

Fyren took the tray brought by his guard, dismissed the lad and carefully set the tray upon the section of the desk that Kahlan had just cleared.

“All the confessors are dead,” she informed him in a shaky whisper before she raised her voice again. “Dennee and I are all that's left of our order, and in Dennee’s case it was dark magic that brought her back from the dead. I was the last of my kind.”

“By the spirits, Kahlan!” the Keltish monarch reacted sadly. “I am so sorry to hear that, though I am mighty glad to hear that Dennee is alive…and safe, yes?”

He poured himself some wine and took a much needed sip of the sweet and warming drink, his mind reeling at the idea that the rumors weren't false, after all. There were dozens of provinces in the Midlands, and now only two confessors to ensure that justice was served across all of them. _Two!_

“Her soul was returned into another woman’s body,” Kahlan recounted fretfully before shaking her downward facing head. “The things I have seen and experienced over these past few years…even as a trained confessor, I was not adequately prepared to face them all. It’s been so hard..." she admitted, her voice breaking.

Sympathy quickly replaced shock in Fyren's mind, and he was about to take a step closer to Kahlan when she abruptly looked up then stood tall, her confessor's mask back in place.

"I imagine that the war was equally brutal to you and your people, Your Highness,” she stated in a detached voice.

Fyren held her cold gaze for long seconds, then sighed in defeat and set his cup aside to fill hers with water. He let out a quieter sigh of relief when she did accept the cup he extended to her.

“The war was hard," he confirmed calmly, "and I am immensely grateful to the Creator that she allowed me to survive it, the way she did for you, Kahlan Amnell."

He then took back and raised his cup, smiling with sincere gratitude at finding himself in the presence of the woman he still admired and loved. 

"I believe that a toast is in order?" He suggested cheerfully. "To the Mother Confessor’s safe return to the Midlands!”

“You are a criminal of the highest order for usurping my sacred title,” she reminded him with a deep frown after slamming her cup down on the desk. “There is no cause for _you_ to celebrate. Enjoy your wine now, for you will be tried at the first bell tomorrow.”

No surprise there. In fact, Fyren had been waiting for this part of their private talk.

"Yes, I _am_ a criminal of the highest order," he confirmed, fighting a smile as he swung his free arm around and pointed at the heavy tome opened on a pedestal next to the bookshelves at the far corner of the office. "I did bother to read the Rule of Law the first day I entered this room, Mother Confessor. The appropriate punishment for my crimes is confession."

"I find a public hanging more appropriate," she countered after lifting her chin haughtily.

She lowered it back when Fyren laughed humorlessly.

He couldn't believe that she didn't even _know._ Granted, the war had counted many casualties, more casualties were being made as they spoke...but Kelton had been its very first victim. Everyone knew!

"Hanging? You would _execute_ the beloved future king of Kelton?" He asked rhetorically, lifting a finger in anticipation to Kahlan's argument. "I am sure that you heard about my father and favored cousin perishing at the hands of some D'Haran generals. They would've killed me too, had I been as valiant and honorable as them. But what you should've also learned, two years after the event occurred, is that the Dragon Corps slaughtered my entire family, Kay, to my very last third cousin. I was not the people's favorite prospect to become king before the war, true, and I myself never envisioned taking the throne. But, during the war, I ensured the survival of my people and saved many of my soldiers from a senseless death on the battlefield. And when Darken Rahl died, I got rid of his army in my kingdom by resorting to tactics many would consider...distasteful."

He made a silent toast and took a sip of wine in honor of the courageous Keltish wenches who'd volunteered to entertain D'Haran scums at their better guarded camps or garrisons, in order to clear the way for Keltish soldiers. Few of these harlots had returned alive, and those few were as mentally scarred by the war as Fyren himself. Unarmed and untrained young women, quite a few being just tall _girls._ All their future king had been able to give them as a reward for their brave service was the guarantee that they and their surviving or future family members would never go hungry or destitute for as long as they kept the written decree displaying the seal of the crown of Kelton as well as Fyren's personal signature.

"The war was hard, Confessor," he echoed his own words from before, "because it forced me to think like a _leader_ , and act like one. Not a brave and honorable leader like Father or Nicholas. Or even that Richard Rahl of yours, who let you shun your responsibilities. No, I became a cunning, effective and sometimes ruthless leader, to earn back my people's safety and freedom, which D'Harans had so brutally stolen from them. That is the only way one can deal with D'Harans: by returning their brutality."

"The hanged man carrying a sign displaying your seal was _not_ a D'Haran," Kahlan countered. "He was a Midlander like you and me!"

"He was a Midlander...I...allowed to die to bring...you...back where you belong," Fyren articulated slowly after putting away his cup. "And I might be a usurper to your rule everywhere else in the Midlands, but to Kelton I am a _war hero_ , Mother Confessor. My people, whom you know to be proud and stubborn, will not meekly mourn my death if you decide to execute me rather than confess me. They will rebel against you and your Council for choosing an unnecessarily harsh sentence over one that would've benefitted all parties involved."

"I fail to see how keeping a man like you alive benefits _me,_ " the Mother Confessor denied as she slammed a hand on the thick wood of her desk. "A man who admits to premeditating heinous crimes and to using distasteful tactics to win a war. Confessing you will put you under _my_ responsibility, and I don't want that burden on my shoulders!"

"You could just pretend to confess me," Fyren suggested with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm tired of leading, and I'd gladly do as you say as long as your commands do not hinder Kelton's prosperity. I need heirs, plural, to rebuild the royal family. I need to seal an unbreakable alliance with Galea. Eventually _you'll_ need to make me lead an allied Midlander army to root out the D'Harans in Azarith...Creek, the one on our side, not in D'Hara—Kahlan?"

She was staring at him with wide eyes for a few second now, and had brought up a hand to cover her mouth.

"Well, of course you could truly confess me," he conceded uncertainly, "I only asked you to pretend because you're the one who didn't want..."

"If you and your best men go south right now, to protect the Seeker from the D'Harans who must be gathered in great numbers in Azarith, I will grant you amnesty upon the completion of his quest," the Mother Confessor declared in a rushed breath.

What?


	6. Seeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally borrowed foibles_fables' idea that Cara kept her neck piece and corset in her bag all along, as we saw her pack them at the end of "Broken" (s2e3). Did the show runners plan on making her dress in full regalia again? We'll never know!
> 
> Please note that I edited Fyren knowing that Richard is from Westland. People should only know that the Seeker is from Brennidon as per the prophecy.

“Maid!” Richard heard Cara’s voice resonate from the other end of the corridor as he exited his room.

He felt refreshed after his first bath since leaving the Palace of the Prophet. He was hungry, but there was still some time left before supper because the town’s council was organizing a ‘modest’ feast in his honor. The event would set him, Cara and Verna back by at least half a day even if they rode hard.

It couldn't be helped. Richard had learned from from Zedd not to argue against celebrations in his name.

Though at first glance Aldamont looked as wealthy as Zedd and Kahlan had claimed, the Seeker suspected that it had been affected by these tumultuous times like any other place in the Midlands.

Thus, Richard planned on inquiring about any problems he could help with. He doubted that the council members would 'bother' him with tasks that they considered beneath him, but hopefully regular townspeople would be honest with him about their needs, or at least they would feel free to express their fears about these uncertain times. He would gladly reassure them that the Mother Confessor was back in Aydindril and working on restoring peace and order. Not all would have a seat at the feast table to hear the good news announced publicly.

“Maid!” Cara called again, and yes she definitely sounded _furious._

Richard had thought that his Mord-Sith would be enjoying their luxurious accommodations, which seemed as close to what she used to have at her temple as possible.

Was she not receiving the services she had expected? Even so, she wouldn’t make a scene about it, surely?

As he stepped closer to Cara's room, the Seeker heard then saw one of the chambermaids climb the stairs and freeze when she saw him. He blinked back at her shy expression, then remembered what he was wearing.

His doublet was made of a sturdy yet supple canvas, its dark gray color in subtle contrast with the lighter gray of his shirt underneath. Golden threads were artfully embroidered along the edges of the doublet’s standing collar and down the eyelets. His beaten leather breeches were comfortable, and he was shocked that his new boots fit perfectly. He’d had to rub clean the Sword of Truth’s scabbard to complete his polished look.

Verna had informed Richard that, following a war that culminated with the infamous Battle of Aldamont, the once kingdom had been reduced to a city that prided itself for its superior lodging and entertainment services. Many rich merchants and nobles frequented Aldamont, and even a few rulers from southern Midlands made the place a mandatory stop on their way to and from Aydindril, which was much wealthier but also more crowded. Over the centuries, all those affluent patrons had funded the town's efforts to create a comfortable and peaceful environment for its guests.

The Seeker appreciated the hot bath and knew that he’d enjoyed the food as well as the comfortable bed tonight, but he could do without the fancy attire. Actually, he wouldn’t mind keeping the shirt and breeches. He needed to thank whoever had chosen the clothes for him, for they fit him incredibly well. 

That clearly wasn’t the young woman—older girl, more likely—whose flushed cheeks turned pale when Cara bellowed her title once again:

“Maid! If I get my hands on you, you little…”

“I'll ask her what she needs,” the Seeker offered, smiling at the way the girl’s shoulders sagged in relief.

Richard walked to the door of Cara’s room and knocked promptly.

“Cara, what’s wrong?” He asked calmly.

“Richard! That little thief took my leathers!” The Mord-Sith accused, making him turn to the chambermaid with raised eyebrows.

“No, no, Ella instructed me to bring them to her, m’lady! She is having someone clean them!” The girl corrected Cara as she approached the door herself, looking and sounding nervous. 

Ella was the matron in charge of this distinguished inn. The council members had assured Richard that she could provide everything that he or his companions needed—they’d eyed the Cara warily, but Richard had vouched for her.

“I left a dress for you, m’lady, chosen by Ella herself!” The chambermaid informed Cara. “But, if-if the dress is not to your liking, I can find you something more suitable, of course, m’lady! Courtesy of the house!”

Cara remained silent for a long minute, and Richard cleared his throat to mask a chuckle. 

_M’lady?_

“Cleaning them?” The Mord-Sith then asked, curious.

"Y-yes, m'lady," the young girl confirmed.

Richard was about to tell Cara that he'd received the same treatment when her door abruptly opened.

His first instinct, like that of the chambermaid, was to look away from the blonde woman because her body was barely covered by a bath towel, but his eyes latched onto a familiar but unexpected sight. With both hands, Cara was holding...

Her Mord-Sith's neck piece and corset?

"Give those to be cleaned too, then," Cara instructed firmly as she shoved the pieces of her regalia into the surprised chambermaid. “Is there a place where I can get...hair accessories?"

"Y-yes we have those, m'lady!" The girl let her know. "They’re the best—"

"I'm not your lady," the Mord-Sith cut her off, “but yes, bring me the best wig of long blonde hair. Immediately, do not wait until my leathers are cleaned.”

The girl looked at Richard, who was still processing the fact that Cara had been traveling with the pieces of her uniform while he’d believed them discarded in Stowecroft.

“It’s to help the Seeker in his next mission,” Cara claimed as she tapped the girl’s shoulder. “Go on!”

Richard nodded his silent consent this time and the chambermaid smiled nervously, tried a shallow curtsy, then ran off to complete the errand Cara had sent her on.

“By my next mission, you mean convincing the other Mord-Siths to swear their allegiance to me?” The Seeker asked the blonde woman now that they were alone.

It was only when he heard another door being open and voices resonating from beyond it that he realized that Cara was still poorly covered and standing at the threshold of her private room.

“We can discuss it after the feast, of cour—Cara!”

She’d pulled him inside her room, and closed the door before the other inn guests could see either of them.

“I am _not_ letting you out of my sight," his bodyguard declared with a huff. "No doubt you were on your way to do some physical labor that would have shameless townsfolks thank the Creator for your arrival”. 

She stepped away from the door and walked behind an opaque divider screen to get dressed.

“I was not going to soil the clothes so generously offered to me,” Richard promised.

It was true. He had to look presentable for the feast!

“But you were thinking of exploring the town without me or the sorceress,” Cara accused him.

It was more of a statement than an accusation, really.

Richard sighed. Was he that predictable?

“You shouldn’t do that, Richard, not without Zedd around,” his sworn bodyguard chided him as sounds of fabric echoed from behind the screen.

It sounded like she was making quick work of wearing her dress. Not surprising, since most garments were easier to slip into than a Mord-Sith uniform. Kahlan could attest to it.

“Your Han could surface at any moment, and...we’re sworn to protect you. Why can’t you let us do our duty?” Cara asked with an exasperated huff when it sounded that she stopped lacing...boots, maybe?"

“I didn’t mean to offend...” the Seeker started apologizing with sincerity.

The rest of his words died before they could make it past his lips when Cara emerged from behind the screen.

Richard made sure to close his mouth after gaping a little bit.

Cara’s hair was still damp and limp, but...she looked no less elegant in that dark green gown.

The neckline was modest, leaving no skin exposed past her collarbones. Richard took a deep breath when he eyed the tightly-laced corset, but also admired the designs embossed on the leather. The expansive skirt of the dress was embroidered in silver patterns similar to those of Richard’s doublet, and when Cara pulled at one of her wide sleeves, he could see that their hems were lined with silver threading too.

The Seeker’s eyebrows lifted when the Mord-Sith walked to the vanity against the wall, because he saw that the dress had a slit that revealed her right leg to the knee every other step, and he detected abnormal bumps higher up her leg under the dark fabric.

Ever the prepared fighter: she'd strapped her agiels to her bare thigh. 

“One would think that you’ve never seen a Mord-Sith in a dress, Seeker,” Cara of course teased him when she lowered herself in the settee in front of the vanity mirror. “I remember your appreciative gaze of Madam Denna's…”

She cut herself off, and Richard saw her reflection frown ever so slightly.

“What is it?” Richard asked but frowned in turn when someone knocked at the door.

“Mord-Sith!” A female but authoritative woman called. “I brought what you asked for.”

Wait.

Richard recognized that voice: it belonged to Ella. 

The owner of the establishment had taken the pain to come help Cara herself? Why?

“Come in,” Cara allowed, ignoring Richard’s panicked gaze.

For a long second he tried to convince himself that there was no reason to feel embarrassed being seen alone with Cara is this room. She was fully dressed! 

But she hadn't been when she'd opened the door. What had the chambermaid thought of Cara being comfortable in a towel in front of him? Had she told her mistress? Is that why Ella herself had come up?

Richard knew that Cara herself didn’t care, but he'd rather avoid having people make the wrong assumptions. It had happened with Kahlan quite a few times. At least he and Kahlan were lovers.

So when Ella opened the door a second later, he stepped behind the screen.

The Seeker noted with surprise that the matron's movements were quiet as she closed the door and walked towards the vanity. She was much lighter on her feet than her slightly portly figure suggested she would be.

“Forgive my intrusion, but seeing you made me nostalgic,” the older woman admitted to Cara. “I haven’t braided a Mord-Sith’s hair in over twenty years, but I have kept my hard-earned skills intact. In fact, I’d wager that I’ve refined them ever since I escaped from Jandralyn.”

Jandralyn? Richard felt like he'd heard that name before, from one of his late night conversations with Cara...

It was a Mord-Sith temple. The largest one, which could host the entire order at once, right? It was located less than a league south of the People's Palace.

"That was long before I earned my agiel," Cara noted. "I'm...surprised that you remember your time in Jandralyn fondly. Panis Rahl must have visited quite often. Then Darken Rahl? He was still young, but..."

Maybe Richard should put his hands over his ears?

No, no, he must learn the hard truths of the empire he planned on leading to peace and prosperity.

"Yes, I escaped when Darken Rahl started making frequent visits," the older woman confirmed. "But Panis was nowhere near the cruel man that his son turned out to be. Yes, he was commanding, and he had strong...appetites, the way all powerful men do.”

Richard pinched his lips, not too keen on hearing about Darken Rahl's father now that he knew that the tyrant was his father too.

“But Master Panis Rahl ruled justly, and he treated the ones who warmed his bed...tenderly,” the former slave claimed.

Richard felt as surprised as Cara sounded when she asked: "the Lord Rahl treated you _tenderly?_ "

"Oh! Not me, I was never granted the honor," Ella corrected her assumption with a light chuckle. "My hair is too light, and so are my eyes. Panis wanted all his lovers dark of hair, though girls with red hair would do too. But they had to have 'soulful' brown eyes. Romantic, isn't it? And he clearly wasn't describing his late queen: her hair was dark, yes, but her eyes had been blue. No one ever learned the identity of the woman whom Lord Rahl was longing for."

The Seeker barely managed to silence his gasp by planting a hand to his mouth.

Dark hair, brown eyes...like him. 

Like _his birth mother,_ Tarralyn Zorander. Her hair had been dark brown with auburn accents only visible in direct sunlight. That’s why redheads had been acceptable to Panis.

Was Ella suggesting that...

Panis Rahl had loved his mother? He hadn't just lay with her because of the prophecy?

Oh. That explained why Tarralyn had had Jennsen with Panis too. She wouldn't have stayed with that young shepherd if he hadn't shown her...whatever version of love the absolute Master of D'Hara could falsify?

It hadn't been true love, no, not on Panis' side. Richard refused to believe it. It had been just...attraction, and maybe a little infatuation. If Panis had truly loved Tarralyn, he would have reunited with her when he'd gone into hiding. Instead he’d let her fend for herself during the war that his own son had started.

Who knew where Panis was now? Colonel Trimack had never said, and Richard hadn't asked. Zedd had speculated that he was already dead, otherwise the Dragon Corps would've escorted him back to the People's Palace after Darken Rahl's death, rather than pledge their allegiance to the Seeker. 

In any case, Panis hadn't truly loved Tarralyn. If he had, he definitely wouldn't have tried to find pleasure with just any dark-haired woman with brown eyes. Richard would never conceive lying with another woman as a replacement for Kahlan. How absurd!

That matter aside, Ella was the second person claiming that Panis hadn’t been a cruel ruler. The claim was expected from a loyal member of the Dragon Corps, but a slave wouldn’t lie about it, not after so many years living a much better life as a free and affluent woman.

It seemed that the D'Hara that all Midlanders feared and hated was just _Darken Rahl's_ D'Hara. Zedd had told Richard that many ruling Rahls had started as benevolent leaders, but many had their souls corrupted in their pursuit of great magical powers.

That was one of the reasons why Richard had given away his Han to Nicci. He didn't believe in prophecies, but he knew that history, the kind that people would rather forget, had the tendency to repeat itself. He wouldn't have given away his Han if it had only come from his Zorander's side. But Richard was also a Rahl, and it seemed that his paternal bloodline didn't mix very well with magic.

Richard's Han had returned to him, his effort to get rid of it wasted, and he had to accept that it was part of him now. He wasn't too worried about his powers getting out of control lately, not now knowing that Verna had a Rada'Han.

And years from now, Richard's soul would already be protected from the corruption of any powerful magic, the way it would have been protected from the power of Orden.

Through _confession_.

Of course Richard would prefer keeping his free will, but it was clear that there was no other way for him and Kahlan to be together, and that was okay.

He already loved her with all his heart, so what difference would it make if he became her slave? Even now he would gladly serve Kahlan for the rest of his life, and he trusted her not to abuse her authority over him when the time came.

With his soul lost to confession, it could never be corrupted by other forms of magic. Kahlan would order him to remain a benevolent ruler for D'Hara, and they could very possibly form a strong alliance between the Midlands and D'Hara.

Whoever the fearsome enemy that Verna claimed was about to surface, they would stand no chance against the combined forces of the Mother Confessor and of the Lord Rahl.

"How brave of you to run away and risk the wrath of your mistresses, or worse, the wrath of Lord Rahl himself," Cara complimented. "Your initiative paid off, clearly."

Richard could guess what a horrible punishment an escape attempt would deserve. With the Mord-Siths capable of reviving people killed by torture...

"I got lucky," Ella claimed. "Though I can only imagine what happened to you...I thought that Mord-Siths would rather die than be dishonored? Who dared cut your hair?"

Oh. Richard had never asked why Cara's sisters of the Agiel had cut her long braid before leaving her for dead by the woods near Ehrengard. Was that why Cara had been so furious and bent on getting revenge? Having her hair cut was a serious affront to a Mord-Sith?

"She's dead, naturally," Cara answered coldly, and Richard heard Ella gasp.

"Two agiels," the former slave said, awe clear in her voice, obviously after Cara had exposed her concealed weapons. "If you're this powerful, how is it that you've bowed to the Seeker? An act for which the world will never thank you enough. With a Mord-Sith by his side, the Seeker can rise again if he were to fall in battle. He wouldn't, not with one such as you fighting by his side."

Richard sighed quietly.

He was a bit peeved, hearing a stranger reduce Cara to his weapon and shield. As if she were a mere _tool._

Yes, the Seeker valued the Mord-Sith. How could he not?

He might never admit to Kahlan or Zedd, but deep down Richard had let Cara join their group because he’d been convinced that no one else could better help him complete his quest.

The Mord-Sith had helped him combine the powers of Confession, Orden and the Agiel, which had been a monumental feat in itself even without the fact that they had been in a hostile future. They'd been fighting groups of people confessed to the tyrannical Master Rahl at every corner then, the way they were fighting banelings nowadays.

And in a way, Cara was as responsible for the tear in the veil as Richard, since the Boxes of Orden wouldn’t have been destroyed if she hadn’t turned against Darken Rahl. So it made sense that she would contribute to the effort to fix the veil.

And this time around, she was unequivocally on Richard’s side. In his fight against the Keeper, against death itself, he couldn't have asked for a better protector than a Mord-Sith, someone gifted with the breath of life.

But while it was true that the Seeker valued the Mord-Sith as his bodyguard, it was also true that Richard Cypher valued Cara Mason as a _friend_ —though he knew better than to call her that out loud.

There were so many things about Cara that made Richard appreciate her company: unlike Kahlan and Zedd, she never shied away from menial, laborious tasks like cutting wood or skinning animals. At times it really looked like she took pride in learning new skills, though more often than not she was just too prideful to allow Richard to do 'peasant's work' on his own while she, his servant, rested. 

What the Seeker of Truth appreciated from the Mord-Sith that he wished the Mother Confessor and Wizard of the First Order would show him too, was her willingness to educate him on matters of the world on this side of the Boundary...without sugarcoating any fact, even when the answers to his questions were bound to appal or unnerve him. 

Richard enjoyed the times when Cara asked questions of her own about Westland. It happened now and then, when the two of them were supposed to trade shifts to watch over their camp, but they ended up keeping watch together because neither wanted to face the shadows of their nightmares. Cara’s keen interest in his hometown was a nice change from Kahlan’s sympathy and Zedd’s nostalgia. Her spontaneous snorts and eye rolls were more welcome reactions than Kahlan’s forced nods or Zedd’s sad smiles.

  
  


And though Richard wouldn't admit it to Cara lest she gave him an exasperated look or even a blank one, he appreciated that in her presence and hers only, he was comfortable speaking so openly of the times when his life had been simple...without also feeling unworthy of his title.

He would never regret becoming the Seeker, but at times he missed the days when he'd just been the ordinary youngest child of a good man...who’d died unfairly. Less often, he even dreamed of a future when his life wouldn't be reduced to his devotion to one woman—by choice.

He couldn't feel that way when he was standing next to Kahlan or Zedd, both born with the burdens of magic and leadership. It made him feel immature and selfish, unworthy of their love and of the honor to serve a higher purpose by their sides.

But the Seeker could allow himself those moments of weakness when he was alone with Cara, in the cover of the night, when even her sharp wit and piercing gaze were softened by begrudged tiredness. With Cara as his only witness, Richard could be vocally sentimental about a past lost to him forever, though never for long: his mood quickly turned light because Cara would amuse him with a demand that he stop being maudlin.

And in Cara's presence, Richard could silently entertain a future that would never come to pass. What ifs, should haves and maybes could freely float in his mind because he knew that the person right next to him understood exactly how he felt. 

Cara wasn't ashamed of being a Mord-Sith, but she too had come to occupy an elevated status after being the ordinary youngest child of a good man...who’d died unfairly. And her life was reduced to her devotion to one man—by choice.

"The Seeker was born to Panis Rahl," Cara's declaration brought Richard's mind back to the room. "He is Darken Rahl's younger brother, the rightful heir to the throne of D’Hara. I’m merely doing my duty by serving him, while his other subjects have refused to swear their allegiance because they’re clinging to the ghost of a man whose legacy was chaos and misery. They don’t deserve his willingness to restore D’Hara to its former glory."

Richard stopped himself from rolling his eyes, and instead smiled fondly at the great pride that Cara expressed about him to this former servant of House Rahl.

Until recently, the Seeker had reserved that smile only for Zedd, Kahlan, Jennsen, Rachel and Martha, but now he happily reserved it for Cara as well.

He knew the exact moment when he’d become aware of his affection for the Mord-Sith: when he’d resented Kahlan for wanting to execute her.

Not when the people of Stowecroft had requested it of her as the Mother Confessor, and not when her grief for Dennee had awakened the Con Dar.

No, Kahlan had meant to execute Cara much earlier than that: when she, Richard and the Dragon Corps had been looking for Rachel and the other girls taken by the Mord-Siths in Ehrengard.

Richard remembered how instinctively Kahlan had extended her hand towards a woman who'd just been beaten up and left for dead by her own sworn sisters. If Richard hadn't believed Cara, she would've died by confession right at his feet, when _he hadn't known_ about the way that confession worked 'differently' on the Mord-Siths!

Was that really how Kahlan had wished for him to learn about another facet of her powers? Had Cara really deserved such a horrifying death after what she'd just been through? After she'd helped Richard save the world from Darken Rahl?

_“Whatever she did, she did it to save her own skin.”_

No, that wasn't Cara. That was Denna, a cruel and ambitious woman who’d abandoned her order to serve her own interests the moment Darken Rahl had been announced dead.

If Cara had only cared about her survival, she wouldn't have been honest about the massacre of the confessors in Valeria. After all, no one else involved in that event had been alive to confirm the veracity of her words. Yet she'd chosen to be truthful in order to save time that would've been better used to complete the quest.

Therefore, yes, Richard had been upset that Kahlan had wished for Cara's death on the principle that she was a Mord-Sith.

On their way to Stowecroft, the Seeker had silently struggled with the fact that the woman he loved couldn't feel any compassion for a woman she knew had been _tortured_ into becoming who she was.

More importantly, Richard had struggled with the fact that, just like Zedd, Kahlan hadn't expressed any _gratitude_ to Cara for helping him return from the future to the present, _back to them!_ Cara had been sent to kill Richard, a task she was very capable of accomplishing, yet she'd returned him to his loved ones in one piece. Had that not been worth Kahlan's mercy?

But of course Kahlan had come around, and she'd even helped Richard save Cara's life at the risk of losing her own. He would never thank her enough for it. It must have been hard for her, but he knew that she'd changed her mind once she'd truly seen who the Mord-Sith really was.

Yet, the Seeker could tell that neither Kahlan or Zedd fully understood who Cara Mason was.

Cara could tell whoever wanted to hear that she was merely doing her duty as a Mord-Sith by serving the Lord Rahl, Richard knew that she’d truly pledged herself to _the Seeker._

_"If you're foolish enough to turn down the throne of D'Hara, then you'll need me all the more."_

She hadn't cared about his title then. 

Cara had followed Richard because she wanted to help him _save the world,_ and it wasn't until D'Haran soldiers had become a nuisance that she'd reflected that he could also be a good leader for D'Hara. She'd claimed that sitting on the throne would've helped him on his quest, but they both knew that she'd heard him explain to Zedd and Kahlan why he wasn't going to the People's Palace.

When Kahlan had defended Cara to Verna, she'd claimed that D'Hara felt like a home to the Mord-Sith, which was why she wanted Richard to restore peace in the empire.

But that wasn't true. 

Cara wasn’t born a D’Haran and the Seeker doubted that she'd ever truly felt at home there. Maybe she'd felt like she belonged when she was under Darken Rahl's mind-binding spell, but not after his death.

When Richard had sent her away, she’d gone back to her hometown _in the Midlands,_ where the only family she had left still lived.

Why, then, would she still worry about the fate of D'Hara, if she clearly didn't see it as her home? 

Because she cared about the greater good.

Cara Mason was honorable, resourceful, and yes, ruthless; but unlike Denna, she was only violent when she judged that she needed to be. Same as Zedd, Kahlan and Richard.

She was a _good person_ , and Richard was honored to call her his friend, even if it was just in his head and in his heart.

“Oh,” Ella’s quiet reaction made Richard blink, all the more when she added: “the Creator heard my prayers!”

“What do you mean?” Cara naturally asked.

"I am D'Haran by birth and upbringing," the older woman informed both the Mord-Sith and the Seeker. "My parents sold me to the Mord-Siths because they needed money, you know how it is. Midlanders don't understand because slavery is banned on this side of the border."

Richard had guessed that slavery was a common practice in D'Hara, yes. Cara was a Mord-Sith, but while she accepted the idea of being served by slaves, she frowned upon the idea of _being_ a slave herself, even to the Lord Rahl. It made sense: while less mentally resilient Mord-Siths had been 'trained' out of their Midlander's way of thinking, Cara's strong power of will had kept intact some of the values that she'd learned as a child.

"I knew that I couldn't go back home after escaping," Ella recounted, emotion shaking her voice then. "I wasn't part of my family's household anymore, but I accurately guessed that it wouldn't matter to Darken Rahl. I was able to warn my parents in time for them to flee before the Mord-Siths could take them. But I have no idea where they and my younger brother are today, if they're even still alive. I stayed away from them in order not to make us stand out. There was a price on our heads! I was only one insignificant slave, I still don't understand why the Lord Rahl would care about me when he already had so many others at his service..."

"It was exactly because you were an insignificant slave that he had you hunted down," Cara explained. "If even you could defy him, then his higher-ranked officers might as well challenge him. He was young then, he needed to prove himself as the uncontested Master of D'Hara. He had to make an example out of you, otherwise his people wouldn't have feared him. And without fear, no one would've served him. He even had to magically bind the minds of several nobles and high ranked officers to his."

"Oh," the older woman acknowledged. "That explains...many mourned Panis Rahl's death, and the rumors about the new Lord Rahl killing his own father weren't in his favor at first. But by the time I crossed the border to hide in the Midlands, everyone seemed willing to die for that cruel boy. It was unbelievable."

"Yes, magic has a way to make people do what they wouldn't in normal circumstances," Cara confirmed. "Many cling to the life they've known for twenty four years under Darken Rahl despite the fact that the magic binding their minds is gone now. But the magic of your hands has indeed remained and improved, Ella. This is good work."

Richard almost nodded his approval at the Mord-Sith's smooth change of subjects. She'd learned to be convivial during his time at the Palace of the Prophets!

Those words had sounded very much like something Zedd would say. Richard himself had learned a lot from his grandfather.

"Thank you, Mistress..." the former slave inquired.

"Cara," the younger woman told her, and Richard heard her stand up. "But there's no need for formalities."

Richard reflected that those words did sound borrowed directly from him. Zedd and Kahlan did place a lot of importance on formalities, and so did Mord-Siths.

"You're a mistress of your own, Ella," the Mord-Sith added. "Being persecuted made you resourceful. And not only did you escape and now have outlived Darken Rahl, but you built a good life for yourself here. From nothing, you've become a well-respected individual in a rich city. You're powerful. Take pride in that."

That...that sounded like Cara herself.

Emerging strong after years of painful experiences was a central precept of Mord-Sith teachings. It was taught to most people with leadership roles, actually, except that the women in red leather took the term 'pain' much too literally.

"I take greater pride in being the new Lord Rahl's host!" Ella announced cheerfully. "Do not worry, I know not to spread news that are only good to us his people. But I should prepare him a more adequate wardrobe, don't you think? For whenever he assumes his role. The Lord Rahl wears red. I know just the one..."

"I'm sure that Richard will be grateful for your thoughtfulness," Cara claimed...while she knew very well that he didn't care for ceremonial garbs!

"I'm the one who should thank him!" The exiled woman countered. "Whether or not I can reunite with my family, I've only ever wanted to go home again. Just to visit, because as you said my life is here now. Lord Rahl can't possibly know how blessed I feel. We aren't far from the border, but for twenty years it felt like the place I once called home was locked away behind an insurmountable barrier."

Richard blinked at the turn of phrase, then allowed nostalgia to stretch his lips in a sad smile.

If only Ella knew. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's staying safe!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> That was a lot of rambling, but I wanted a little calm before the storm.
> 
> The next chapter will have the last POV change, then I'll stick to Richard and Kahlan's POVs for a while!


End file.
